Once Upon a Dream
by Tennyo Dalucia
Summary: Thirteen years ago Sarah had a vivid dream about rescuing her baby brother from the Labyrinth. Twenty-eight and a somewhat successful author with a part-time day job she was planning to spend a relaxing weekend at home with her parents. But a migraine turns deadly and in order to save her Jareth has to spring a trap against himself. Now his only hope is that Sarah will find him.
1. Chapter 1

"Half-caf, half-full americano to go on the bar!" Sarah called out, setting the hot drink down. It had been quiet for a Friday, but she had not had a chance to leave the barista station since she had started her shift four and a half hours ago. Considering it was only a five hour shift, she was glad it had gone by so fast. She emptied the porta-filter into the knockbox, and purged the group head.

"Thanks Sarah!" The girl who came up to the bar for the drink grinned at her. "How is your book coming?"

"I have passed the halfway point," Sarah said with an answering grin, "so it should be almost all downhill from here."

"Awesome. I can't wait to read it. I really liked the first two!"

"Well I hope it doesn't disappoint. It's a little bit darker than the first ones." She grabbed a cloth and started tidying up the station.

"Seriously, can't wait. Have a good weekend, and I'll see you next week!" Sarah waved at her as she hurried out the door.

"Everyone loves you, Sar." Neil's voice was full of good humor.

"Maybe," she said with a laugh, "I think they just love the coffee I make them."

"You are the best barista here." It was not said with jealousy, or even teasing; they both knew that people would ask for her by name if she was not at the espresso machine.

"Only because I am always on the bar."

"And you're quick." She turned to him, putting the cloth down and taking a minute to rest.

"Can you pass me the-" Neil was already holding out the espresso beans and she laughed, taking them and turning back to her machines.

"You still going back to your parents' for the weekend?"

"Yeah," she replied, lifting the lid off the grinder. "It's my Mom's birthday, so I kind of have to."

"So I guess you won't want to go to the poetry slam with me?"

"Sorry, Neil. Even if I wasn't going out of town," she put the lid back on, and clipped the bag of beans closed, "my deadline is coming up way too fast."

"But you are almost finished this book?"

"The first draft, yeah. Then comes the fun part." The sarcasm in her voice was impossible to miss.

"You could just let me read and edit it for you, you know." He was leaning casually against the counter, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, you'd make it totally inappropriate. I don't think so."

"Oh come on, I'm good with words!" His expression was hurt, but his eyes were glittering with humor.

"You are a troublemaker. Stop loitering and go find something productive to do."

"I am being productive."

"How so? By harassing me?"

"I'm motivating you to be a better employee."

"You're delusional." She had met Neil on her first day of class her freshman year at college. She had been hurrying to her class, turned a corner and run full-speed into him. Books and paper had gone flying, and she had been horribly embarrassed. He had kept her from rebounding off his chest, by grabbing onto her. Once she was steady he had helped her pick up her things, and she had hurried on her way, apologizing profusely and forgetting to get his name.

When she had almost run into him a second time later that week, he had surprised her by already knowing hers. He had demanded jokingly that she accompany him to lunch the first free day she had, and she had-blushing furiously—agreed. She learned his name was Neil, and that he was from Europe and was studying medieval literature and folklore. She had embarrassed herself by saying he did not look the type to be interested in such a fanciful subject and he had just laughed in good humor and said he had always felt a strong affinity to the myths and legends of old. He had been the one to encourage her to pursue her writing, and to ultimately push her to submit her work to the campus magazine, and then later to national writing magazines. He had, in a way, been the one to launch her career, and while she was not currently making enough to support herself solely on her writing, she was getting by with her part-time job in the coffee shop. She had also inherited most of her mother's estate when she had died, and that had made the last several years much less stressful for her. She did not want to rely on her inheritance, but she was glad to know that if things went sideways she had something to fall back on while she got herself sorted out. She had invested a sizable portion of the money, but that still left quite a bit sitting in her savings account should she need it.

The one thing about Neil that sometimes made her worry was his affection for her. He had never mentioned having feelings for her beyond friendship, and had never suggested directly that they become a couple, but she had always wondered if he did not think that was where they were eventually headed. During late night—or early morning, as it were—conversations she had sometimes mentioned that she was not ready for a relationship, or not interested in pursuing that kind of intimacy with someone, and he never seemed to be bothered by the statement. It was not as though she thought him unattractive; quite the opposite, in fact. She simply had never felt drawn to him intimately. He wore his thick, dark hair long, and she knew from experience that it was like silk between her fingers. His blue eyes were always sparkling with mischief and humor but he could be serious and was incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable. He listened to her story ideas, and he never ridiculed them as childish.

It had been a far cry from the people she had gone to high school with, who had mocked and ridiculed her for having her head in the clouds. She had never really considered being a bit of a dreamer a bad thing; though she would admit sometimes it left the real world a little bit lackluster.

"Earth to Sarah?" Neil snapped his fingers in front of her face and she startled to attention.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was asking if you wanted to go grab lunch after work. Where did you go?"

"I was just thinking about how we met," she admitted. "Lunch sounds great."

"The usual place?" Sarah just nodded, and Neil grinned at her and wandered away.

"I don't blame you for thinking about meeting me, I am pretty spectacular," he threw over his shoulder as he went. "I will meet you there." Sarah just rolled her eyes. One thing she could always count on was his cocky attitude. She had never met anyone with his self-confidence. Not in real-life, anyway.

When she arrived at the little pub down the street, the waitress was just setting down two pints of her favorite local beer. She flopped into her seat, dropping her purse into the empty chair next to her.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I didn't order for you."

"That's fine, I'm not really sure myself," she said with a smile, picking up her menu and looking it over. It never took her long to make up her mind; they ate here at least twice a week and she usually had one of two things. Today she opted for the spinach and goat cheese salad.

"Rabbit food," Neil said, wrinkling his nose as the waitress came back and took their orders. He opted for a steak sandwich, as usual.

"I like veggies, unlike some people."

"I am just not built to eat the fruits of the earth," he shrugged, then changed the subject. "Did you get your mom a birthday present?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod, "I think she'll like it. Toby wants me to bring him a present, too."

"Of course the brat does," Neil said, but there was fondness in his tone. Neil wasn't terribly fond of kids but ever since he first met her brother they had gotten along pretty well. "Are you bringing him something?"

"I've printed off a chapter of the new book," she said with a shrug. "He's really into them for some reason, so it should placate him."

"Isn't it strange for a soccer player to like fantasy?"

"I don't know," Sarah said thoughtfully, "all the stories I told him when he was a kid were fantasy. There is the fact that he's my brother, too."

"Ah, but your mom was an actress, so it makes sense. Runs in your blood."

"Maybe," she said with a bitter smile, "but we've been close for a long time, so I think it rubbed off a little." They talked about inconsequential things after that; customers at work, the weather, what they planned to do for the weekend. It was comfortable, and when they finished their meal and Neil paid the whole bill she just shook her head and let him. He was almost as stubborn as she was; though she had never had reason to show him that side of herself. As she lived only three blocks from work, she had not bothered to take her car and Neil walked her back to her apartment, which was not so far from where his own car was parked that she thought it strange.

"I mean, you never know what could happen to you on the street."

"Neil, this isn't exactly the sketchy part of town, you do remember that, right?"

"Still, I want to make sure you get to your dad's house without incident."

"I am pretty sure I'm okay to walk the four blocks to my house." Still, she knew she was not going to win the argument; she never did.

"And you let me walk you home anyway."

"Because I don't want to listen to your paranoid whining!" She was laughing as she said it, taking any sting out of her words. He rolled his eyes and took her hand in his, bowing low over it.

"I am grateful to the lady for taking my feelings into consideration." She just shook her head and he straightened, grinning at her. "Alright, seriously, give me a hug. I will see you Monday?"

"Tuesday," Sarah said, wrapping her arms around him. He was not so much taller than her that it was awkward, and he pressed her tightly to him. Neil gave some of the best hugs, and he loosened his hold to drop a kiss on her forehead. "Ow!" She gasped, bringing a hand up to rub her skin, "you shocked me!" The sharp tingle of static was quickly fading, despite it's strength.

"I didn't mean to," he said though his eyes were sparkling mischievously. She slapped his shoulder and stepped back, reaching into her purse for her keys.

"Sometimes you are a massive jerk, Neil."

"Oh come on, Sarah. It was just static, it's not like I meant to."

"Yeah," she grumbled. "Whatever, I will see you Tuesday. I've taken Monday off so I can get some writing done." He was nodding as she slipped her key into the lock.

"Tuesday, then. Have a good weekend, and sweet dreams."

"You too, Neil." She slipped into the apartment, and let the door fall closed behind her. Neil was already walking away, and she rubbed her forehead where he had shocked her absently. Even though it had been a short day for her, she wanted to pack her things for the morning, and she still wanted to do her yoga practice before she got to working on her new manuscript. She rolled her neck to loosen the tight muscles. Perhaps a bath before bed was also in order.

The late afternoon sun stretched warm fingers of light across the room, the golden glow speckled with slowly drifting dust. Laying with her arms and legs spread comfortably out on a mat in a clear space with the warmth of the sun on her face and the golden light turning her dark hair into mahogany, Sarah Williams let her breath flow into every part of her body before expelling it only to draw in another. Her eyes were closed and the muted noises of the world outside her apartment served as an auditory connection to that existence, even as her sense of the ground beneath her body tied her to the very real earth several stories below. Her hands rested open to either side, palms facing upward toward the sky and fingers slightly curled. The sound of her breath passing into and out of her body was her only real measure of passing time. She had found the stillness inside herself; the place where the demands and deadlines that bound her day-to-day fell away and she could just exist as she was in that moment.

The shrilling of her cell phone shattered the quiet.

One green eye opened and her lips turned down in a frown. She had meant to turn the damned thing off before she started her practice, but had apparently forgotten. It sounded again and she exhaled as she rose to her feet in one fluid motion. Padding across the sun-warmed wood floor in her bare feet she stretched her arms upward fingers interlaced before grabbing the offending device.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sarah! You haven't forgotten about dinner tomorrow, right?" Toby's voice demanded. She smiled, despite her irritation at the interruption.

"No, Tobes, I haven't forgotten. It's at seven, right?"

"Yeah, and you should totally bring me a present!" From the other end of the phone Sarah could hear her stepmother chiding the soon-to-be fifteen year old for his exuberant selfishness. "Yeah, but it's just Sarah, Mom. She already knows I'm selfish. Besides, I'm a teenager now. I'm supposed to be difficult." She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her, and she could hear his own grin.

"You are supposed to be a sweet little kid forever, buddy."

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen. Anyway, mom wants to talk to you about the boring stuff. I just wanted to make sure you're still coming."

"I'm coming, I promise," she laughed, "now go do the homework I know you're avoiding."

"Man, you're no fun at all, Sar." The whine in his voice was entirely affected.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm all grown up and stuff. Don't get lippy or you won't get anything for your birthday." Toby apologized profusely—if insincerely—and she heard the shuffling sound of the phone being handed over.

"He didn't interrupt anything important calling you now, did he? I know you don't usually answer your phone until later but he really wanted to make sure you were coming." Cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear, Sarah moved over to her love seat and sat down, curling one leg beneath her and drawing the other up to rest her arm on as she took hold of the phone with her hand once more.

"Mm, no. I was just about done my practice anyway."

"You sound half asleep." Sarah could hear the smile in Irene's voice.

"I was sitting in a sunbeam, and shavasana is all about relaxing. It wouldn't be the first time I've fallen asleep in it."

"I have no idea what that means," Irene said with a laugh.

"Basically it's the part of yoga where you just lie there and let your body relax. So occasionally sleep happens. Plus that sunbeam was really nice."

"So my step-daughter is actually a cat." They both laughed at that.

"Really though, I thought I at least had my phone turned to silent but I guess I forgot. Toby said you wanted to talk about 'boring stuff?'" This time, Sarah was certain she could actually hear Irene's eyes roll.

"He's a joker, that son of mine." It was said with humor, and Sarah understood the feeling. Her half-brother was an energetic and intelligent boy, and while he sometimes acted the insolent teenager he was also very thoughtful and considerate as well. "I just wanted to remind you that you're supposed to be bringing those apple tarts you make so well."

"I have a big note on my fridge about it. I was going to get them ready tomorrow morning, and then we just have to bake them before dessert."

"They're not too much work, are they? You don't have to bring them, you know. If you don't have time, I don't want you shorting yourself on sleep."

"It's not like I have to make more than twelve, Mom. It won't take that long."

"If you're sure."

"I am. Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

"Well," and Sarah mouthed the words as Irene said them, "I was wondering if you were bringing anyone to dinner." Sarah shook her head.

"No, Mom. No guests. No boyfriend. Just me, myself, and I."

"You know, if you did want to bring someone, it would be okay, right?"

"There isn't anyone to bring," Sarah said firmly. She could practically hear Neil's name being chanted in her stepmother's head.

"You should have someone special in your life, Sarah. You are a wonderful woman, it's not right that you're alone."

"You know, you used to say the same thing when I was fifteen," Sarah said with a wry laugh. "It's not that I don't want to date," she began, choosing her words carefully, "I just haven't found anyone that," she paused, threw a handful of words away as unsuitable and continued, "fits."

"But how can you know if they fit at all if you never date anyone?" Irene's voice was a little exasperated.

"I have dated people, but it just never seemed right. I am not going to bring someone to meet you guys when I don't feel very serious about them." She shook her head, thinking back to the several guys she had dated in the past. "It just never seems to be the right time, or the right person, or-" she trailed off. "I don't know, maybe _I'm_ not the right person."

"Now Sarah, don't you dare think that for even a minute." Irene's tone was both concerned and scolding. "There is nothing wrong with you. You might not be quite like everyone else, but you are just perfect the way you are." Sarah was silent a moment, drawing strength from the words and marveling a little at the way her relationship with her stepmother hand changed over the past decade. Once upon a time, Sarah had seen her as the wicked stepmother of her very own fairytale, determined to ruin her life and take away the only person who still loved her. She had not been able to see how her own actions pushed everyone away from her, and how it was her own fault that her family had struggled to understand her. A dream, wonderful and terrible and so very vivid had changed her viewpoint almost overnight, and she had come to understand how her own actions affected those around her. She had not become the model daughter so quickly, of course; it had taken time and quite a bit of effort to overcome her own teenage angst, but she had made the effort to be more understanding and less willful. She had almost been surprised to find out that Irene was not, in fact, evil at all. Even better, she was an extremely encouraging support once Sarah started actually speaking to her. "You will find someone who loves you for who you are and who will appreciate all the things you are capable of."

"Thanks, Mom, but I don't know. Maybe I am doomed to be alone forever."

"I don't think so. You are pretty amazing, Sarah. You just haven't found the person who can see that." Sarah was silent for a moment, seeing in her mind a flash of pale hair and pained eyes. She shook her head.

"Maybe you're right. Anyway, I should go, I want to get a few more pages written before I go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright, Sarah. Take care, I love you."

"Love you too. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight." They hung up, and Sarah gazed down at the phone in her hand with a sigh. The warmth of the sun was still with her, and coupled with the relaxing yoga she had just finished she was feeling decidedly languid. Still, she had not been lying about the need to get some work done and once more she rose and padded barefoot through the apartment, stopping in her small kitchen to get a glass of water before shutting herself away in her office with her computer and the half-finished manuscript.

"Come on, brain. Let's get the rest of this chapter finished."

She finished not only the one chapter but the following one as well, though it was well after dark when she did. Shutting down her computer with a satisfied sigh she stretched her arms upward and let her thoughts filter back into the 'real' world.

To her left, the window was cracked, letting in the sounds of the street below. Now that she was no longer lost in the world of her own imagining the sounds had meaning again. An occasional car passing, the shouts of happy or not-so-happy passersby. While she had been lost in her own head the world outside had continued on uninterrupted. Her story was about a girl who was stuck between the world she had been born into and the world of her dreams; something of a coming-of-age story in which the girl has to navigate the treacherous space between her early life and her impending adulthood. If she drew some characters from her own childhood dreams, she found herself shying away from blond hair and blue eyes though she could not quite say why. An impression of danger, of loss. Of longing.

The pressure behind her eyes raised its head. She sighed and pressed her index fingers hard into the pressure points at the top of her neck. It was not a migraine yet—not even a headache—but the tightness around the base of her skull left her little doubt one was coming. She glanced at the clock and winced slightly; it was already almost eleven. She was going to have to get up at eight if she wanted to have time to wake up and make herself presentable, and also have time to make her apple tarts before making the three hour drive to her parents' house. She knew she ought to go straight to bed, but decided that a hot bath would have to come first. Sometimes even a short soak could prevent one of her headaches, and she definitely did not want to be completely debilitated by a migraine on her stepmother's birthday.

"Bath, and then bed," she said to herself, reaching over to close the window. She slid the latch to lock, and rolled her head on her neck as she made her way into the bathroom.

The migraines had started when she was sixteen; the first one had been unexpected and unfamiliar, and Irene had rushed her to the hospital only to eventually be told that it was 'simply' a migraine, and they had returned home with some painkillers. Her father had been home by then, and he had been quick to drape a blanket over her bedroom window and put her to bed with a bucket for her nausea. She had heard him speaking to Irene quietly outside her door as she lay in the dark with a cold cloth against her forehead, and had learned that her mother had also suffered from migraines. At first they had come infrequently; six months or more could pass before the aura hit out of the blue. As she got older, however, they came more frequently. In college she had suffered them monthly if not weekly. Her roommate had suggested she keep a 'migraine diary' and monitor what she ate, how much she slept, and how stressed out she felt. At first it had seemed silly, but she was surprised to see a pattern develop.

It was not so simple as 'avoid these foods entirely,' or 'get exactly this amount of sleep,' but she realized that she was getting migraines almost every month within a week of her period. The ones that did not follow that pattern seemed to come when she was working late into the night and not getting enough sleep. Chocolate or cola could trigger one if she had not been sleeping well. Later, once she had her own apartment with a bathroom complete with bathtub, she had taken to having hot baths before bed when she was feeling restless which eased the tension that tended to gather in the back of her neck and helped her sleep more restfully. She had also discovered—quite late in her college career—that drinking just one cup of coffee in the morning seemed to make the migraines less severe when they did hit. She did not know why but after the particularly bad one she had suffered when she was twenty five and had decided to give up coffee she swore that she would never stop drinking it.

Soaking in the tub she breathed slowly, consciously relaxing the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. Yoga had taught her to be aware of her body, and how to direct her breath to ease the worst of the tension. She had never spoken to a doctor about it, but she thought that being able to approach the pain with a calm sense of acceptance also helped to keep the worst of it at bay. Still, some days it seemed like nothing worked at all.

She knew she had not been sleeping well; though she had not been going to bed particularly late or getting up unusually early she had been having trouble staying asleep. She woke often in the night, anxious or afraid and unable to remember the details of the dream that had woken her. When she rose in the morning, even that vague sense of doom fled before the daylight. She sighed, sinking deeper in the hot water, so that the whole back of her head was immersed. She could feel the warmth seeping in to her muscles, easing them. She hoped that the drowsiness would help her sleep through the night, but there was a little voice in the back of her head that was telling her it would not help. Too little too late.

In the end it was that voice which drove her from the bath only fifteen minutes later. She moved into her bedroom, and pulled on a pair of old silk pajama bottoms and a slightly less old tank top. She allowed herself only a few minutes for some shoulder and neck stretches, and then she slipped under the cover and switched off the small lamp on her bedside table. Rolling onto her side she whispered a quiet prayer to whatever gods might be listening for a solid night's sleep. She did not see the shadows shift in the darkened mirror on her wall, and as her breathing evened out they twisted and writhed out of the frame, to coalesce into an indistinct shape at the foot of her bed. A slender, pale hand reached out toward her, pale hair glinting in the sliver of ambient city light that slipped through the drawn curtains, and then the figure disappeared into the shadows of the mirror once more and all was still and silent in the apartment.

Sarah slept and did not dream.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the sun peeking through her window that woke her in the morning. A glance at the clock told her she could linger in bed for another half hour, but she knew herself well enough to realize she would get no more sleep and wandered drowsily into the bathroom to shower instead. Letting the hot water beat against her face she exhaled heavily. She felt off, and for a moment she considered calling Irene and canceling her trip, but then she remembered Toby and despite herself she smiled. He would probably forgive her for not coming, but she could not bring herself to disappoint him. So she shook her head, and set about cleaning the sleep from her body.

She felt somewhat better once she got out of the shower, and she set the kettle to boil while she went to get dressed. She opted for one of her favorite pairs of jeans—light colored and always with a rolled cuff—and a simple white tank top. In the kitchen the kettle started to scream and with her hair still up in a towel she went back to the kitchen to fill her coffee press before she went to brush out her hair. She had never really be the girl to spend hours on her appearance; her hair was thick and dark, and her skin had stayed remarkably clear even in puberty. Her friends in high school had always told her how jealous they were of her perfect skin even as they caked on their makeup to hide the blemishes. It was no different now. She wore makeup very seldom, and it was often limited to mascara and lipstick or gloss. She had left behind the bright red lipstick she had once been so fond of, though she still had two or three of them in her makeup bag. Instead she wore a light tinted gloss if she wore any at all. She wove her long hair into one thick braid that hung forward over her shoulder, and applied her mascara and a bit of colorless lip balm and smiled at herself in the mirror.

The smell of coffee had drifted all the way into the bathroom, so she knew it was ready and she returned once more to the kitchen. Breakfast consisted of a grapefruit and a bowl of granola with yogurt and she curled up on the couch to eat it, gazing out at the clear blue sky beyond her window. It was entirely possible that the weather at her parent's house would be different than here in the city, but she did not think it would be. She could almost feel the broad expanse of blue sky extending from horizon to horizon. For a moment she wished that her living room window faced the rising sun; she wanted to feel the light on her face. She had given herself a longer practice than usual the previous evening, knowing she would not have time for her usual morning routine, and she missed it. Still, she knew she had several hours of work to make her tarts, and if she had time, she could always do some yoga at her parents'.

In the beginning she had found yoga to be frustrating; it seemed that no matter how she tried she simply could not hold the poses properly and was always having to do modified versions that were easier, which she had not—initially—taken well. Still, as she continued practicing she had gotten better at it, and had been able to relax into her meditations more easily. Strangely, it had also allowed her to let go of her feelings of inadequacy. She had started out comparing herself to the others in her classes, but had come to realize that it did not matter what the others could do; she had not been there for them but for her own well-being. That realization had been remarkably liberating, and it had been at that point that she had really started to see progress in her own practice. She had been able to apply that principle to her daily life as well, and had become both more content and more successful as a result. It was remarkable what could be achieved when one stopped comparing themselves to others.

She allowed her thoughts drift while she ate, and as she finished the last slice of grapefruit she could not help the quiet chuckle that bubbled out of her. It had, sometime in the last two years, become so much easier to fall into meditation. Still, she did not have time to pursue the thoughts further, and rose off the couch to start working on her apple tarts.

* * *

It was half past twelve when she finally loaded her things into the car, placing her tart carefully on the floor in the passenger's side. She had made them slightly different this time; she had drizzled a mixture of brown sugar and butter over a thin layer of cream cheese on the bottom of the tart shell. Over this she had carefully arranged the thin slices of apple into roses before drizzling them with a little bit more of the brown sugar mix. It was something of an experiment, but she had wanted something a little bit more decadent than usual for her step-mother's bithday. She was going to call them candied-apple cheesecake tarts, if she ever made them again.

The two hour drive to her parents was uneventful, and when she pulled into the driveway of the house she had grown up in she was surprised to see that neither of her parents' cars were in the driveway. There was no answer when she rang the doorbell, and when she tried the door it was locked. A glance at her watch told her that her family should have been expecting her. She used her key to let herself into the house.

"Dad, Mom? Anyone home?" The silence told her the house was empty, and so she kicked off her shoes and wandered into the kitchen. A small chalkboard next to the phone had a message in her step-mother's neat handwriting.

_Ran to the store for a couple things, Robert and Toby are out on a secret mission. Make yourself at home._

Sarah smiled, relieved, and went back to her car to grab her weekend bag and the tupperware she had stored her tarts in. She peeked into them before putting them in the fridge and was pleased to note the apples had not browned—she had soaked them in lemon juice to prevent it—and closed the fridge.

Upstairs, she dropped herself and her bag on what had once been her bed. When she had been younger she had loved the pink floral theme of her room and the contrast of the heavy antique furniture had made her feel like a princess. The vanity had been her favorite thing. It was still there, but with the thick white duvet on the bed and the long white curtains it had a different feeling. Her figures and makeup and jewelry were not cluttering the surface, making it seem so much more grown up and austere than she remembered. She wandered over to it, running her fingers along the edge of the wood. Once this desk had held all her secret desires, all her daydreams. Unable to stop herself, she slid open the shallow top drawer, and was surprised by a brilliant slice of red half-buried beneath carefully stacked photographs. She reached for the red book, felt the familiar worn leather cover warm against her fingertips, and withdrew the familiar small book before closing the drawer.

"The Labyrinth," she murmured, the golden letters glittering in the light. She ran her fingertips across the lettering, as she had done a thousand times when she was younger. Every crease of the book was familiar, even after more than a decade away from it. It had been so long since she had read the story and longer still since she had played in the park, pretending to be the princess in the story. She returned to the bed, curling up against the headboard, and turning the little leather volume in her hands.

It used to be her favorite story, she remembered fondly, so much so that she had often dreamed about the magical world and it's mysterious goblin kingdom. He had been a fascinating villain in her youth, powerful and vicious and yet somehow vulnerable. She had played at being the princess in the park when she had been frustrated with her life, and so terribly afraid that her father was going to love his new family more than her. That he was going to leave her like Linda had. She had tried to be self-sufficient for a time, had lashed out at her step mother and even raged at Toby for simply being born. She had been afraid, and had been powerless to stop the fear. Then she had dreamed, so clearly, of wishing Toby away, and of running the Labyrinth from her story. She had dreamed of the Goblin King, and she had been the hero at the end, saving the boy and returning to her own world victorious. With the book in her hands, the dream came back to her in remarkable clarity. She had been convinced for weeks afterward that it had actually happened; yet it faded as dreams were wont to do. The inside cover held a short message; _Dearest Sarah; Found this in an antique store in London and thought of you. May all your dreams come true. Love, Mom. _

Linda had even autographed it, and Sarah had cherished it. Yet now, she could not help but shake her head over the self-importance that had let her mother think the gift would somehow satisfy the empty place where she ought to have been in her daughter's life. She could remember being delighted upon opening it, certain it was a sign that her mother wanted her to follow in her footsteps, leaving the 'boring' life of her father behind. Perhaps Linda had considered that when she had mailed the little playbook to her daughter, but she had even stopped sending gifts two years later. Often she even forgot to call on holidays, let alone birthdays. After her vivid dream, she had begun to let go of her fierce attachment to the woman who was never there. Eventually she had come to realize that the idolization of her mother was possible in large part because she was never there. They never fought because Linda cared only about her own business and Sarah had wanted so desperately to escape from what she had perceived as unfair that she had hung on every word. Linda had never been able to offer her anything more than a superficial relationship. Still, self-centered as she might have been, Sarah knew she had cared as much as she was able. Now a grown up, Sarah was able to see that her mother had done the best thing for her when she had left; despite her rocky relationship with her stepmother she had grown up loved and cared for and protected in a way her mother never could have done.

She sighed, and turned to the first page of the story, surprised how many old feelings and memories the little book had raised up in her. It was not so surprising, she supposed; the book had figured prominently in her adolescence.

"Once upon a time there was a young girl," she read the words aloud, and felt a shiver run down her spine. She laughed, and closed the book quickly. She rested her hands flat against each cover a moment before laying it face down on the bedside table. Downstairs she heard the door open.

"Sarah? Are you here?"

"Yes! I was just putting my things away!" She rose from the bed, and hurried downstairs. She did not want to think about the strange mix of feelings that rose up in her at even just the sight of the book.

"Your father should be home with Toby in an hour or so," Irene called as Sarah came into the kitchen. Her stepmother was putting groceries into the fridge, and had not seen her. She turned and startled. "I didn't hear you come down!" She hurried around the island to give her a hug.

"They're out picking up your birthday present, huh?" Sarah laughed, returning the embrace. Irene chuckled.

"I think so. Toby was pretty determined that I not come with them. Is that your Tupperware in the fridge? The tarts?"

"Yeah," Sarah took a seat on one of the big stools at the island, leaning forward on her arms. "I made them a bit different this time. There is cream cheese. And maybe caramel."

"Maybe caramel?"

"Well, I used brown sugar and butter for a glaze, so yeah, maybe caramel. I just thought we should have something a little more special for your birthday." She watched as Irene tidied up the little mess she had made.

"They sound wonderful! I'm just going to put the kettle on for tea, do you want some?"

"Yeah, I'll have a cup. What have you got?"

"Oh, a little of everything." Irene opened a cupboard and started reading out flavors. After the tenth one, Sarah couldn't help but start laughing.

"I'll just have green tea. The mint one." Irene smiled, though she was blushing a little.

"So tell me," she said as she pulled the teas down and set up the cups, "how is Neil doing?" Sarah groaned inwardly, she should never have told Irene she was spending time with a guy, even if it was mostly friendly.

"It isn't like that," she said trying not to sound defensive, "Neil is a good friend. We have known each other since college, which you know. We aren't involved with each other." It was true, although she was fairly certain he had feelings for her, she had never felt the same for him and so she very maturely avoided the subject of feelings with him. He had dated other people since she had known him, but his relationships never lasted very long.

"You see him pretty often, Sarah." Irene pulled a stool around to the other side of the island and perched herself atop it as they waited for the kettle to boil.

"I know, but he is really just a good friend. I am not interested in him like that."

"He seems nice, and he's certainly attractive." She had made the mistake of bringing Neil to a family gathering once after he had admitted to having no family of his own. Her step mother had been quite taken with him—as had all the other women in her extended family—and had never given up the idea that her daughter should date him. She saw a lot of good traits in Neil, and certainly his ability to listen to her ideas and not call her childish was one of the things she valued most about their friendship but she had never felt anything more than that for him. He was attractive; a fact she was not going to deny, yet while she might like looking at his beauty there was just something about him that was not quite right for her. She had never really been able to figure out what it was.

"He is nice and attractive, yes. But, mom, I need more than that. He listens to me, but there is just something missing. I just don't feel that way about him." The kettle started to whistle.

"If you say so, Sarah. I just don't want you to be alone. You deserve someone who will cherish an support you."

"You just want grand-babies," Sarah accused with a laugh.

"Well, I won't say I'm adverse to them," Irene admitted, turning with both cups in her hand, "but that's not the important thing. Shall we move to the living room?" Sarah nodded and rose, taking her cup, and warming cool fingers against the ceramic. Her fingers always got cold when she stopped moving.

"I don't know if I am ever going to have children," she said with a shrug, following Irene toward the couch. "I can't really imagine it now."

"I just don't want you to wait to long and miss your chance, Sarah."

"I know, but I still have time. I just want," she paused, tried to find the right words. "I just don't feel that having kids will make my life better. It's good right now. I want to keep it that way." Sarah curled her feet under her on the sofa, while Irene brought only one leg up.

"Well, I suppose I understand. Just don't give up on love because you haven't found it yet. That's all I am saying."

"I won't, Mom. I promise."

"Good. So," Irene put her mug down on a coaster on the coffee table, "tell me about the new book you're working on!" Sarah smiled, and took a sip of her tea before she launched into a description of the new story, and let the conversation about her love life—or lack thereof—fall away into the back of her mind.

* * *

By the time her father returned home with Toby in tow, Irene had been back in the kitchen working on dinner for almost half an hour and Sarah was reading on the couch, sipping from a second cup of tea. She heard the car pull up, and set her mug on the table to go open the door. The moment Toby saw her he was running up the stairs to launch himself at her, wrapping his arms around her chest and lifting her off her feet enthusiastically. He might be only fourteen, but he was already taller than her by two inches and easily strong enough to spin her around. She was laughing when he set her back down on her feet.

"Good to see you too, Toby."

"It's been ages since you've visited, Sar!"

"It's been a month!"

"Which is forever," he declared, his voice exasperated at her lack of understanding. "I mean, I grew another inch!"

"I noticed," she said seriously. "Are you ever going to stop growing?"

"Not until I'm taller than Dad." He said, very seriously, glancing back at where their father was coming more slowly up the stairs. Robert Williams might have been fifty years old, but he carried himself as though he were still in his thirties. Sarah had always thought he was quite handsome, and the salt-and-pepper hair—there was more gray at his temples—made him look distinguished. His eyes were a green-hazel mix, and if he wore glasses now, they were stylish enough that they did not add years to his appearance. Sarah was certain they had been Irene's choice.

"Hey, sweetheart!" She moved away from Toby to give her dad a hug. He passed the shopping bags to Toby and wrapped both arms around her. It was strange now to think that once she had thought her father had wanted to replace her with another family. "I missed you, Sarah."

"I missed you too, Dad." They parted, and he put his hands on her shoulders as he studied her face. "Do I pass inspection?" She was grinning.

"Well, you look like you could use some sleep, but otherwise, you look good." They both laughed, and Sarah hugged him again.

"You know how it is when a deadline is coming up. I've been sleeping, but not so well."

"Well, if you want to take a nap, you don't have to stay awake and entertain us. I'm sure Irene will have lots of work for us." Sarah laughed, and walked back into the house at his gesture.

"Yeah, I might do that. I can almost feel a headache starting."

"I'll tell your mom and Toby. Just go get some rest." Sarah nodded, thanking him with a kiss on the cheek before retreating up the stairs to her room. She did not bother changing into Pajamas, not wanting to get too comfortable. She did, however, slip under the covers. Wrapped in the warmth of her bed, she found herself reaching for the small red book on her nightstand. She gazed at it in her hand, let the confused welter of feelings rise without thinking about them. There was something about the book—something she might once have called magic—that called to her and without letting herself think about it too much, she slid the leather book under her pillow, where her fingers could rest against the cover and closed her eyes.

* * *

Her father's knock woke her, and she was surprised to look at the clock on the table and see that she had been asleep for almost two hours. Just like the night before, she could not remember her dreams, and she thought that strange. She also had not moved, as far as she could tell. Her fingers still rested on the leather book beneath her pillow, and she left the book there as she told her father she would be down in a few minutes. She heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs, and got out of bed. A glance in the mirror told her that her hair—still braided—looked only a little messier than before, but still acceptable and she patted it down. Her eyes were still tired, and a little bit dull, but there were no dark circles under her eyes. For a moment the mirror seemed to shimmer, her face distorting, colors shifting and she thought she had a glimpse of ash and blue and sharp teeth and then it was just her own face and nothing strange. She shook her head, blinking to bring herself a little more awake.

The hallway was empty when she opened her door, and she went into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. It helped a little, but she still felt terribly tired.

_At least I know I will sleep tonight_, she thought. Typically the worse she felt the less likely it seemed that she would get a migraine, so she took some comfort from that.

"Dinner's ready!" Irene called up the stairs, just as Sarah patted her face dry.

"Okay, I'm coming!" She took a deep breath, met her own eyes in the mirror, and then made her way down to dinner.

"You just got here and you were sleeping the whole time!" Toby complained when she sat down, and she shrugged at him.

"Your sister isn't feeling well," Robert said, slapping Toby upside the head lightly, "and no whining at the table."

"But I never get to see her!"

"You saw her a month ago, Toby." Irene joined in.

"That is like forever when you're fourteen!" Sarah could not help the laughter that bubbled up. Toby sulked a little at the laughter, but eventually even he had to admit he sounded childish, and his cheeks got a little bit redder than normal.

"Sarah, I couldn't remember what temperature you needed the oven at; I left it at four twenty-five, but I didn't put the tarts in." Irene turned to her.

"That's fine, they won't take too long. The apples have to be pre-cooked anyway, so I can roll them. They really just need to be warmed up. Maybe ten minutes?"

"Oh, that's good. You can put them in when we are finished eating?" Sarah just nodded.

"Dinner smells amazing," she said, looking at the food laid out.

"It's kind of a tapas meal," Irene said proudly. "I made ricotta stuffed peppers, crab-stuffed mushroom caps, pork skewers, some chicken phyllo wraps, some spanakopita, that kind of thing."

"I love the idea. Lots of little things we can all enjoy," Sarah said, nodding. Irene loved to cook, and she often got quite creative with her recipes. With the internet, she suddenly had access to thousands of recipes with just a few clicks, and it certainly made Sarah's visits home just that much more enjoyable.

"Wine, Sarah?" Her father asked, holding out the open bottle of red. Sarah nodded and moved her wine glass closer to him. They had set the table with the 'fancy' dishes, and there were two candles burning among the food. It was beautiful, and the wine just made it that much more elegant.

"Can I have some, Dad?" Toby asked with an innocent smile.

"Only a little," he said, pouring only a small amount into Toby's glass. Her parents seemed to understand that kids were going to drink, regardless of what their parents said, and as such they had never strictly forbidden it. Instead, they had allowed both Sarah and Toby the occasional glass of wine with dinner, or a small glass of beer in the summer. As a result, Sarah had never seen alcohol as something 'special' or 'for adults'. It was never a secret that was kept from her, and the one time in her senior year she had gotten drunk at a party one of her friends had thrown while their parents were out of town she had simply called her dad, who had gotten out of bed well after midnight to pick her up and take her home. Her friends had been amazed at the way she had made the call; apologizing for waking him up, explaining she was drunk and could he please come get her. They had switched between calling her a buzz kill and telling her they would stand up for her when her dad got mad at her. She had not understood either position. When her father pulled up she had apologized once again, and her friends had heard him quite clearly say that it was okay, and he was glad she had called. They had been stunned.

She had never even gotten a lecture for getting drunk under age; she had told him there would likely be alcohol at the party and he had made her promise to call if she felt unsafe for any reason. When she woke up in the morning, she had only suffered a minor headache and when she saw her friends at school on Monday they had all complained of the bitter hangovers they had suffered over the weekend. She had made the decision then to avoid unsupervised parties, and when she got into University she had chosen to avoid parties all together. When her father had filled Irene's glass, and then his own, he set the bottle down and lifted his.

"To Irene; may you have many more years of joy ahead of you." They all lifted their glasses in response.

"Happy Birthday, mom!" Sarah and Toby said, almost perfectly in unison. Everyone laughed and the glasses clinked together in the center of the table.

"How's the new book coming, Sarah?" Her father asked as he stacked a couple skewers on his plate.

"More quickly than the last one," Sarah admitted with a smile. "I think I'm actually going to finish it before my deadline, this time. So that's a nice change."

"Did you take less hours at work, then?" Irene interjected, "I remember last time you were working four eight hour days a week, and it was really hard for you."

"Yeah," Sarah nodded as she served herself, "I'm working five days now, but only two of them are long days. Even though it's only four hours less a week, I am much more productive."

"I'm glad to hear that. You deserve to succeed."

"Did you bring me something new?" Toby asked, eyes sparkling. Sarah and Irene laughed when Robert scolded him for being selfish on his mother's birthday.

"As a matter of fact, I did bring you a new chapter. It's about the young prince and his adventure in the dark wood!" The character of the prince—called Terin—was based off her brother, and he knew it. It was, she suspected, why he loved her story so much. Whenever she had told him stories as a child, she had always made them about her brother just as she had made them always about herself when she was young. There were always lessons in her stories, of course. She believed that every good story was based around some deeper truth. So she had told him stories where the princeling learned the value of things like honesty and forgiveness. Sometimes she drew from her own experiences, to furnish the prince's enemies, other times she drew from her dreams. She was honest enough with herself to admit that her stories had not changed so much since then; she still wrote them around Toby, and if she could write situations that were more mature now she still wanted her hero to grow into a virtuous defender of all that was not only just, but right as well.

"Really? Can I read it after dinner?"

"If mom says it's okay. It is her birthday."

"You know, I am tempted to say no." Irene said, but there was a glitter in her eyes of mischief. Toby was instantly contrite and apologetic for his actions. Sarah just smirked. "But that would be cruel. Yes, you can read it after dinner. After you've eaten everything on your plate."

"And Sarah's tarts!"

"And yes, after Sarah's tarts."

She forgot sometimes how nice it was to have dinner with her family. She found herself relaxing into her chair as the meal progressed, lulled by wine and food and conversation.

"Honey, I think it's time we opened your gifts so we can send Sarah to bed." Her father said with a laugh. She sat up in her chair, blinking away her drowsiness.

"No, I'm okay!" She said quickly, embarrassed. She had slept for two hours just that afternoon; she ought to have been wide awake and yet she could practically feel her energy draining away.

"It's okay, Sarah. Get some rest tonight, and you'll feel better in the morning." Irene gave her an understanding smile, and Sarah couldn't help but agree. She did stay up long enough to see Irene open her gifts; a beautifully bound day planner from Toby, a simple silver bracelet from her father and a weekend at a bed and breakfast for two on the coast from Sarah. She hadn't meant to overshadow her father's gift, but the deal had been too good to pass up. Irene was thrilled, and both of her parents thanked her profusely for the thoughtful gift as she said goodnight.

"You guys work hard, so I wanted to give you something to say thanks for that."

"It's perfect, Sarah." Her father said, giving her a hug. "Thank you, and sleep well."

"Really, thank you!" Irene also hugged her. Toby, sitting on the couch with his nose in the new pages she had brought just waved vaguely in her direction and she bent down to kiss the top of his head as she made her way up to her room. That he didn't even flinch told her just how distracted he was.

Getting ready for bed, she wondered if maybe she ought to book some time away from home for herself as well. She had no idea why she was so tired, but maybe she just needed some time away from her own life. She gave a bitter little laugh; there would be no escaping her life until her novel was finished. After that she could take a week and go somewhere else and just unwind. She had a deadline to meet, and she was well on target to do it. She could not allow herself to be distracted now.

She climbed between the sheets, not noticing the white owl sitting in the tree outside her window.

As she drifted deeper into sleep, she thought she felt a draft—as though she had left the window open—but she was too deep to truly wake up. _I should check the window_, she thought drowsily, but there was no urgency and no real concern behind the thought. Even when she thought she felt a warmth across her forehead, she was not worried.

_Let me in, Sarah. Let me help you._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So this is my first fanfiction in forever-like maybe seven years-and I am actually only writing it as an exercise in character development for a completely different original project I am also working on. The character in question will appear in a later chapter.

**Honoria Granger:** Your review made me grin; I am writing this for CampNaNoWriMo this month, and it is unbeta'd. So that's quite a huge compliment considering the circumstances lol.

**WatersofOblivion: ** You are incredibly astute, but I think I will manage to surprise you at least a little bit.

To my other two reviewers: Thank you! I hope it continues to keep you entertained!


	3. Chapter 3

She woke up on Sunday determined to be more energetic, yet when she climbed out of bed and padded down the hall into the shower she still could not shake the exhausted feeling. She also could not remember whether she had dreamed or not; while they tended to fade away once she was awake, she usually remembered having them if nothing else. Try as she might however, she could not even remember that much from the past few nights. Worse, she felt like there was something missing, some hole that she was draining away into. Shaking her head she let out a wry chuckle. Obviously she was still half-asleep if she was thinking like that. Stepping into the shower she stood beneath the hot spray, letting it try to wash away the sleep and wanting desperately to just feel like herself again.

She knew that if she continued this way she was going to end up with a migraine, despite the fact that she was sleeping so much. She had long ago learned that it was not only how many hours she slept, but also the quality of sleep that made a difference. She was certain that she was not getting the right quality of sleep, and she was not sure why. _At least_, she reasoned,_ if I get a migraine now it will probably make me feel better_. She had been able to ignore the mild throbbing headaches so far, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they gave way to something so much worse. She desperately needed a good night's sleep and yet it continued to elude her. She dressed sluggishly, adding a light sweater to her ensemble to battle the chill she could not shake before heading downstairs to get herself some coffee.

"Good morning! Did you sleep well?"

"I slept okay," she replied with a shrug, "still not feeling well. I think I'm getting a migraine." She reached into a cupboard for a mug. "Is it bad to hope that I'm just coming down with the flu?"

"Oh, I hope it's not!" Irene's voice was instantly worried, "Toby just got over the flu, and I'd really rather he didn't miss more school."

"I'll try not to pass it on," Sarah said with a slight smile. She poured her coffee, doctored with just a little bit of cream and sugar and took a seat at the island.

"You're not too stressed out are you? I know how you get when a deadline is coming up." Irene had turned from what she was cooking to look at Sarah.

"I didn't think so, I don't feel stressed out." Sarah shrugged and took a sip of coffee, letting it linger in her mouth as though that would somehow allow her to extract more caffeine. "I just don't seem to be able to sleep. I can't remember dreaming at all."

"That's not so unusual, is it?" Irene turned back to the stove, though Sarah caught the slight frown on her face. "Although you have always had very vivid dreams, and remembered most of them."

"I don't really remember what they're about anymore," Sarah said, "but I usually remember having them. I don't know, maybe I am just stressed out. My head has been throbbing for days, god knows it's probably just a migraine working it's way in."

"Oh don't say that, honey."

"It's fine, Mom." Sarah sighed. "Better to face it than to pretend it won't happen. It's not like it will kill me, and I usually sleep really well after it's over."

"If you say so. Maybe you are just getting sick." Sarah couldn't help but laugh.

"I hope not. I am a horrible sick person."

"Your father is a horrible sick person," Irene said vehemently, "you're just mildly frustrating." They both laughed at that.

"So is that breakfast?"

"More like brunch," Irene said wryly, gesturing at the clock. "I thought we could have bacon and eggs and pancakes."

"Sounds wonderful, but I notice you have not cooked the bacon yet."

"I figured you'd actually want a chance to have some."

"I see your point." They both knew that Toby and Robert would never have left any bacon for her if it had been made before she got up. "I am, however awake now. I'll help."

She knew the moment the smell of breakfast had made it upstairs; Toby was suddenly in the kitchen trying to steal slices off the plate Sarah was putting them on. She slapped his hand as he reached for another.

"Ow! Mom, Sarah hit me!"

"Out of the kitchen, Toby, unless you're going to help."

"It really hurt, Mom!"

"If you don't get out of the kitchen right now, I swear I will never buy bacon again." Toby yelped, and was gone a moment later. Sarah was pretty sure that not even an evil stepmother could withhold bacon, but like Toby she thought it better to be safe.

"That's a cruel punishment. No more bacon."

"Well, sometimes it pays to be a little bit evil."

* * *

The headaches receded with breakfast and a second cup of coffee and she almost felt herself again, if still a little sluggish. The whole family went out together that afternoon for a picnic in the park where Sarah had once played at being a princess. She excused herself from them after a while, telling them that she wanted to explore the nostalgic feelings that rose up in her. Standing at the edge of the pond, she withdrew from her pocket the little red book she had found in the vanity. She opened it to the ribbon marker, near the very end of the book, and looked over the text.

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the goblin city," she said the words softly, looking up from the pages and out across the lake. She imagined the villainous Goblin King standing before her, tall and proud and yet somehow frail and fading. "To take back the child which you have stolen." He would beg her, she knew, offer her everything she had ever dreamed of. "For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great," she faltered, knew he would seize upon any weakness to deter her, distract her, to gain victory over her. She could almost see the desperation in his eyes, the longing for something she had no name for. _Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave. _The shifting of light in the heart of a perfect crystal, a glimpse of something she knew she could not have. "You have no power over me." They should have been strong, but they fell from her mouth barely more than a breath of wonder. The world tilted under her feet, fell apart around her, and she wobbled where she stood on the bank of the pond, staring down at the book in her hand while her heart pounded in her chest. She glanced over the lines, looking for the words the Goblin King would say when the princess faltered, and they were not there. She flipped to the next page, but it was only the princess' victorious return to her family with the child she had not truly intended to wish away. The princess did not hesitate, was speaking words from her heart, not lines from a play she had memorized. He had been given no space to speak.

Her vision went funny, and she closed her eyes tightly for a moment to see if it passed. She covered her eyes with one hand—the other still held the book and she thought for a moment that the leather warmed slightly in her hands. When she looked up again, she knew she was getting the blind-spots that preceded her proper visual aura. The sun was not going to help the inevitable headache, and she knew her bottle of ibuprofen was on the bedside table. She tucked the little book into the back pocket of her jeans, and made her way back to where her family was playing in the sun. Toby and her father were some distance away throwing a frisbee, but Irene was laying out on the blanket reading the book Toby had gotten her.

"Hey, sweetheart, you don't look so good. Everything okay?" She asked, lifting her sunglasses to squint at her stepdaughter.

"Yeah, just got a migraine. I'm gonna go back to the house and take some painkillers."

"I have some Tylenol in my bag," she offered.

"It won't do much," Sarah said with a shrug. "I brought ibuprofen with me, I just left it in the house."

"Do you want us to come with you?"

"No," Sarah said, waving her stepmother back to what she was doing. "Don't worry about it. I'll just take some, and if it doesn't get bad I'll come back."

"If you're sure." Irene's voice was concerned. Sarah just nodded.

"I can handle it," she smiled. "Enjoy the sun. I'll see you guys when you get home."

"All right, feel better."

"I will." She took her leave, breathing very deliberately as she made her way through the park. She took a couple shortcuts on the way home, and made a beeline for her bottle of Advil. She shook out four of the capsules, counting them three times around the 'glittery' aura that was eating up her vision, and went downstairs to grab something quick to eat. She had found that eating something—even something small—would help to stabilize her stomach. She settled on two pieces of toast. She turned suddenly, certain she had seen something move out of the corner of her eye. There was nothing there.

She knew the house was empty, and it had not been something so big as a person. It was too big to be a rat. The strangest part was that she had seen the movement in the shimmering spaces where her aura had stolen the rest of her vision. A shiver ran down her spine, and she focused carefully on the little bit she could actually see.

_It's like there are goblins-no. Goblins aren't real. You are just letting the book get to you. And that crazy dream you had when you were a kid. That's all it is._ She closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths, concentrating on loosening the muscles of her neck and shoulders. She knew she would only regret lying down, but her body felt suddenly so heavy; she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes for just a few minutes. Instead, she busied herself by tidying up the kitchen; it was not very dirty but there were some dishes in the sink, and she took her time washing them, before wiping down the counter and stove. It took her longer than normal with her vision unreliable, and she kept turning her head as movement kept appearing in the corner of her eyes. When she was done in the kitchen she took herself upstairs, and not knowing what else to do, put herself to bed. She knew from past experience that lying down would only make her head hurt more in the long run, and so she carefully stacked all her pillows, and propped herself up on her side so that her head was higher than the rest of her body. It was not an ideal solution but without something else to occupy her thoughts she was just not going to be able to stay awake and upright. Closing her eyes on the world she wondered if it had not been a bad idea to leave her family after all. Certainly being out in the bright sunlight was not going to help her headache, but at least she could have distracted herself with conversation. Instead, the silence within the house seemed to encourage her to jut give in and sleep. At least, she consoled herself as she drifted off, I can get to sleep before the pain actually starts. Maybe I will sleep through it after all.

* * *

She woke much later; the sun no longer peeked through her drawn curtains. She could hear the sounds of people downstairs and while she could remember no dreams, she knew she had slept through the worst of her migraine. She still felt sluggish, and her head throbbed if she moved too quickly but as she rose slowly from bed she felt like she was recovering.

Going downstairs took more effort than she would have liked, but as she padded quietly into the kitchen her stepmother only nodded to her. It was her father who asked how she was feeling.

"Like someone took my brain and put it through a grinder," she said with a shrug. "I have felt worse, though so I'm okay." She turned her gaze to Irene. "Is there something I could eat?" Her stepmother nodded.

"There are some whole wheat bagels, or I could put some soup on. There are the leftovers from the picnic but I know you don't usually want something that heavy-"

"A bagel would be nice. Just butter on it, though." Irene gave one decisive nod and set about making it.

"I wish I could help, sweetheart." Her father said as she took a seat on the stool next to him.

"Me too, Dad. I swear I felt okay until a couple of days ago. I mean, my deadline might be coming up but I'm not even that stressed out about it."

"We don't always know when we are feeling tense, Sarah.

"Yeah, I know that, but usually when I get a migraine I can look back and recognize the signs. I didn't have any of them. I thought I was sleeping fine, and I didn't feel stressed out or anything." She sighed. "Maybe I didn't realize it, but I don't know. Something feels off."

"Are you just going to eat and go back to sleep?" He asked, putting an arm around her shoulder. She shifted until she was resting her head on his own shoulder.

"I don't know. I feel like I slept through the worst of it. I think I'll have a bath after this, and then go back to sleep. I'm sure I will feel better in the morning. I always do."

"I still wish there was something I could do." He always sounded so helpless when he was faced with the fact of her migraines. She knew that he had watched her mother suffer the same pain, and as much as she hated them, she could only imagine how much worse it was to watch someone you loved go through the pain knowing there was nothing you could do to help. She tilted her head and smiled up at him.

"I know, daddy. I'll be okay in the morning. I promise. I already feel a lot better."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said hesitantly. They had never really talked about how hard it must have been to see his little girl in so much pain; her relationship with him had improved so much since she was fifteen that she had never needed to. She could see it in his eyes, and hear it in his voice. Still she knew he respected her ability to manage the pain—and other symptoms—on her own. She was pretty sure he sometimes wished she relied on him more, but she was on her own so much that she had simply had to learn how to deal with them. It was not always tidy, but she had a system and it worked. "I guess this hasn't been the holiday weekend you really wanted."

"Not so much," she sad with a breathy laugh. "Still, even if I've been in bed the whole time, it's good to be here. I miss it." She smiled at Irene, who reciprocated as she set the bagel on the counter in front of her. "Thanks, Mom."

"Honey, you know I feel the same as your father, right?"

"I know, and thanks for that. I know I was a terror when you guys got married." Irene and Robert glanced at each other, not sure what had brought the sudden nostalgia on. "I've just been thinking about growing up a lot, maybe it's because the main character in my book is going through that right now, I don't know. Maybe it was that stupid playbook. I found 'Labyrinth' in the vanity. It reminded me just how childish I was."

"Sarah, you were a child, and it was a little unfair of us to expect you to behave like an adult-"

"No," she straighted, shaking her head, "it wasn't unfair of you. Mom leaving, that was unfair." She cast Irene an apologetic glance, but she was unfazed. "I was so afraid that you guys wouldn't want me once you had a kid of your own." She had never said those words aloud before, and she was surprised at how easily they came. "I mean, if Mom didn't want me, how could you?" She was looking at Irene, and did not miss the flash of anger in the other woman's eyes. Sarah just smiled and shook her head a little. "I had a dream once," she said softly, "and it was kind of about that book. The Labyrinth. In the dream I wished Toby away to the goblins, and they took him, and I had thirteen hours to solve the Labyrinth or I wouldn't get him back." It was the first time she had ever really talked about that dream—that vivid nightmare—to her parents. I don't think I have ever had a more realistic dream in my life. I fought my way through all these crazy things, and I won; I rescued Toby. I thought it had actually happened at first," she admitted, "but I couldn't say so because how crazy would that have been?" The words were falling from her mouth, though she occasionally jumbled them and had to take a breath and start over. "I wasn't an adult, but I could think like one if I really wanted to. I just got so wrapped up in my own pain and my own fear and I forgot that I wasn't the only person in my life."

"I always wanted you," Irene said quietly, and Sarah was surprised to find tears in her eyes when she looked up. "We never told you, but before I met your father—long before I married him—the doctors told me I would probably never have children of my own." There was a long moment of silence while Sarah and Irene looked at each other. "I was thrilled to meet you, to get to know you. Even though I knew I could never replace your mom." Sarah considered her for a moment and then smiled.

"You deserved Toby," she said finally with a wry smile, "and you certainly earned your stripes as my stepmom. I didn't know you weren't supposed to be able to have kids."

"It didn't seem important. Robert told me you were an only child, and that you were a little bit spoiled."

"I was a lot spoiled," Sarah said with a smirk, glancing up at her father to see his sheepish expression.

"Fortunately for both of you, I expected that." Irene's own smirk made Sarah burst out laughing, which made her head throb. She pressed a hand to her temple as she got her laughter under control.

"Oh that hurts." She took a bite of her bagel, trying to control the smile that wanted to split her face.

"Whatever the reason for your change of heart," Irene said with a gentle smile, "I'm glad for it. You are a pretty amazing human being, Sarah. I'm glad to know you." Sarah almost felt tears rising in her own eyes, and she smiled at Irene.

"Thanks, Mom." She didn't think that her stepmother ever took being called 'mom' for granted. Knowing that she had never expected to have children of her own, Sarah felt a little guilty for treating her so badly in the beginning. Even though they had obviously come to share a much closer relationship with time, it was hard to not look back on her fifteen year old self with a little bit of distaste. They talked about other, more inconsequential things while Sarah finished her bagel, and when she excused herself they bid her good night. She was overcome with the need to make sure they knew she loved them; and so she hugged them both tightly. "Thanks for everything. I couldn't have asked for better parents." She did not miss the concerned glance they shared. "I just wanted you to know that," she said quickly, "I don't think I say it enough. It's the migraine, making me feel nostalgic."

"We will see you in the morning. Go get some rest. I love you." Her father rested his hand affectionately on the top of her head. She smiled at him.

"I love you too, Dad. Mom."

Upstairs she started a bath, before ducking into her room to get a book to read. Her eyes fell on the little red volume resting on her bedside table, and she didn't even think twice before grabbing it. It was strange; she had not thought of the book in so many years and yet since finding it in the vanity drawer she had kept it within arms reach at all times. She reached into the water, and adjusted the faucet when she found it a little cool for her liking. Under the sink she found the epsom salts, and she added a generous amount to the tub before undressing and sinking into the hot water. She slid down until the back of her scalp was beneath the surface, and had to close her eyes against the throbbing of her head as her blood moved through her head. It eased after a few moments, and she took a few steady breaths and focused on relaxing the muscles in her neck and shoulders. She tried to picture the tightness just smoothing away, taking the headache with it. The heat worked its way into her body, and she simply lay there for quite some time.

When she brought the little red book up, opening it to the first actual text, it was almost as though her fingers tingled where they held the book.

"Once upon a time there was a young girl," she whispered aloud, "who was the daughter of a great king." The narrator's part had never particularly interested her, though she had read it often enough to memorize most of it. No, she had only ever been interested in the part of the princess; she flipped ahead to her first line.

"It isn't fair!" Sarah's voice was soft, "why must I stay behind to watch the baby? I ought to be attending the ball with you!" So different from her own life; though she had thought it so similar when she was younger. It had been her own choices that had resulted in her being ostracized from her peers. She no longer doubted that her parents would have allowed her to go out had she had friends with which to do so. This story, it was not at all the same. The princess would have been expected to attend the balls and events her parents did, to make a good match if not necessarily one of her own choosing. The child in the story would have had nursemaids and nannies, and would not have needed a childish princess to attend him.

"It is so different," she murmured, turning the page. Her headache was once again throbbing behind her eyes. She ignored it as she scanned the text. _It's almost as though I remember my dream more clearly than the actual book._

The pain in her head spiked, and she set the book down and closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing while she waited for it to ease. She could feel the muscles in her neck and shoulders trying to relax in the hot water. After a moment the worst of the pain passed and she rested her head on the back of the tub, closing her eyes. When the pain returned, she simply took another deep breath, conscious of how the air flowed into her body. Most of the time it was only movement that aggravated her head, but sometimes—as now—it seemed that just the movement of her blood was enough. Still, it always passed. She let out her breath, and drew another. The pain beat against her skull. She frowned; something didn't feel right. It should have been easing already.

It intensified suddenly and she dug her nails into her palm. Something was definitely wrong. She opened her eyes but suddenly the light was too bright-too much-and the pain became worse, forcing her to close them again. It felt like knives were being driven into the sockets, a sharp pain that pierced all the way into the back of her skull. She whimpered, trying to sit up. She had to get out of the bath, but her body was not obeying her. Her hands were tingling, going numb and she could feel the tingles starting in her cheek.

_This is wrong, I need to get out of the bath, I need to-_the thought ended abruptly. She was being torn apart, reformed, until she was nothing but the pain. She could not feel her limbs. The last thing she registered was the feeling of water closing over her head as what little was left of her fled into the dark.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Thank you to everyone who has followed this story, I hope you keep enjoying it, and I promise Jareth does have a place in this story. He's coming, he's coming.


	4. Chapter 4

She was drifting, floating aimlessly in the darkness. She refused to feel, could not bring herself to wake and face the pain that had driven her so deep. She did not have to breathe here, and there was no pain in this place. It was peaceful, if empty.

_Sarah_. The word was like a breath of air in a still room, but she paid it no attention. She did not want to recognize the word, had given up language with her body. There was no fear here; no desire or sorrow. There was nothing but silence.

_Sarah_. She frowned, the word echoing in the emptiness. Part of her wanted to respond to that word, to answer the voice. She did not want that part of her. The part that hurt and felt fear and loneliness. She wanted the nothingness that surrounded her, she wanted the peace. Out of the blackness around her there appeared faint swirls of silver. She watched them idly, admiring the patterns that formed and then fell apart. The mist eddied as though there were a breeze, though she had felt none. The mist drifted toward her and she felt only a slight curiosity. The words were meaningless to her, and she ignored them as she reached out to the mist.

The moment her fingers drifted through it she felt warmth racing up her arm, almost like a lover's caress. She drew a sharp breath, and felt suddenly the warmth in her other hand. She turned her head, and saw the mist twining itself through her fingers and across her palm. It traced fine patterns around her wrist, and where it touched she could almost see the traceries it left behind. They sank into her skin almost as quickly as they appeared, and where they did she felt powerfully alive. She knew, suddenly, that she had been dying. The awareness came with the knowledge that she was also not dead, though she was certainly not exactly alive. The voice drifted through her awareness once again, and she felt the first stirrings of familiarity. She pushed them away, and tried instead to find the thing that bound her still to her body. She wanted to separate it, to simply let go of her life and drift away into the peace. She only wanted to rest. No more pain, no more sorrow or loneliness. The stillness called to her.

_Sarah, you must wake_. She knew that voice._ I have need of you_. She blinked. Around her, the mist had become much thicker, and it now surrounded her. She inhaled and felt the warmth rush into her lungs. From there she could feel it filtering into her blood, and spreading quickly through her body until she felt like her whole body was full of light. She could feel her body, though it was removed, and she struggled to withdraw herself from the pain that still lingered there. She did not want pain, had she not suffered enough? _Please, wake up_. The words gave her pause. Never could she have imagined that voice saying 'please.'

"It hurts," she pleaded, knowing even as she did so that she had already lost.

_I am sorry, but I have need of you. Sarah, wake_.

Another word she would never have imagined hearing from that voice. She closed her eyes, pretending for just a moment that she was not going to answer, that she was just going to let go. She was certain he was only trying to manipulate her, that the note of desperation in his voice was a ruse to earn her sympathy. She did not want to admit it was working, and she cursed that he knew her so well even after thirteen years of silence. Thirteen years of believing he had been a dream, and she had no trouble with the reality of his existence now. She took a breath, steeled herself for whatever she might find.

And she woke.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first thing she realized was that she was not in pain. There was a dull ache in her chest, but the knives in her eyes were gone. The second thing was that she was in bed, though she knew her own bed did not have the soft silk sheets she was currently laying between. There was a strange scent on her pillow, and she slowly opened her eyes to see that she was not at her parents' house. She was also not in her own world. She could not say that she was somewhere completely unfamiliar, though she had never seen the bedrooms within the castle beyond the Goblin City, but she would have recognized the odd tint of the light even in her dreams.

She was laying on cream-colored silk sheets, which she found surprising, though the duvet laid over them was a rich burgundy color. The bed was draped with curtains of the same rich burgundy as the duvet, and they were pulled back with ties at all four corners. The wood was not one she had ever seen before; it gleamed almost silver in the golden light. Beyond the bed, the room was elegant and well-appointed. All the furnishings were made of the same silvery wood. It was a large room; with a full sitting area and fireplace as well as the bed, which was on a dais she realized as she sat up. Halfway down the wall to her right was a large pair of wooden doors. The filigree trees they depicted were austere and beautiful at the same time. The rest of the wall was set with arched windows that held no glass; slipping out of bed and padding over to one she discovered that there were filigree shutters that opened outward. There was no glass, and she wondered for the first time if the lands of the Goblin King actually had any weather at all.

She leaned her hands on the wide sill, looking out over the labyrinth that spread almost as far as the eye could see and wondered why she was not upset at being here. She glanced down at the soft, white nightgown she wore and realized with surprise that she was also wearing the Goblin King's strange pendant. She lifted it in her hand, showing it a reverence she could not explain. She knew this was important somehow, and it worried her that it was not around the neck of the ruler of the kingdom. It was warm in her fingers and for a moment she thought to take it off, her hands moving to slide the chain over her head.

_Why would he give you this if you were not supposed to wear it? _The thought stilled her hands, and she let the pendant fall back to hang against her sternum._ Why do I even care what he wants? He stole me away without my permission. He is not supposed to have power over me. _The thought had no real venom, however, and she returned her hands to the sill and her gaze to the twisting labyrinth. She had never expected to end up back here; certainly not after rescuing Toby from her mistake and refusing the temptations of the Goblin King himself. She had convinced herself that the whole thing had been a dream, and yet she found it so very easy to accept that it had been real. She wondered if her emotions had been magicked, making her more amenable and decided against it. She did not feel numb; instead she felt a strange sort of relief at seeing the Underground once again. She drew a breath of the strangely scented air, and she could practically feel the good health flowing through her. True, her lungs were still sore, and she coughed a little as she exhaled, but over all she felt more alive than she ever had.

A knock at the door made her turn, and for a moment she considered getting back into bed and feigning sleep but chose instead to straighten and meet the Goblin King with strength. She would have answers from him, and she readied herself to play whatever game he had concocted in order to get them. Without waiting for a response, the door opened and admitted her visitor.

"Jareth, what-" she was extremely surprised to see it was not the Goblin King at all. Even from across the room she could see that his eyes were almost completely white—even the pupil—and and they did not focus on her at all, though his entire body went completely still. "Who are you?" His voice, calling for Jareth, had been curious but not unfriendly. In only a breath it had changed and now was full of threat. He moved suddenly, so quickly she almost could not follow and had her back against the wall with a knife at her throat. This close, she could see that his eyes did not focus on her, his gaze remained distant and she realized he was blind. "Who are you? Where is the king?"

"My name is Sarah!" She was surprised her voice was calm and level. "I don't know where the Goblin King has gone. I just woke up."

"What have you done?" the man growled, blind eyes narrowing. "Who are you working for?"

"I swear," Sarah said softly, "that I know nothing. I was," she paused, wondering if he would even know what a migraine was. "I was sick, and I must have passed out in the bath tub. I don't know what happened; I find it hard to believe he would have rescued me and yet I woke up here with his pendant around my neck." The moment she mentioned the pendant it seemed that what little color there was in that pale, inhumanly beautiful face drained away.

"You wear his pendant," the words came from a throat suddenly choked by some emotion she could not identify. "Give me one good reason to let you live." The emotion, whatever it had been, was gone from his voice. It might never have been there at all.

"I don't have one," Sarah admitted, feeling suddenly very afraid that she had been rescued only to die on the silver knife of this stranger. "I was dreaming, and I think he asked me for help. I agreed," she admitted quietly, "because it seemed so unlike him to use words like 'please' and 'sorry.'" The knife pressed harder into her skin and she closed her eyes, knowing that it was not going to be enough to save her. Who would believe a dream? The blade was gone, and when she opened her eyes the tall man was pacing around the chamber with an displeased expression on his face.

"What use could you possibly be? What help does he need from you?"

"I don't know," her voice shook a little and she rubbed her throat where the knife had been. "Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe I was hallucinating."

"You were the one who defeated his Labyrinth." She was silent a moment, embarrassed though there was no condemnation in his tone.

"Thirteen years ago, yes. I won my baby brother back." This time it was his turn to be silent, and she did not dare break it.

"He should not have rescued you." The words came out as though they were painful, and she wondered who this man was with his blind eyes and silver hair. "He knew it was a trap."

"A trap?" She pushed off the wall, took several steps toward him. He turned and stopped her with his expression, at once warning her away and daring her to step closer. It was frightening how much willpower it took to not step into his space. She folded her arms across her chest, digging her fingers into the skin just above her elbows. The slight pain gave her a reprieve from the strange draw she felt.

"Indeed," his distaste heavily colored the word. "Does it surprise you to know your precious Goblin King has enemies?" Sarah took a deep breath, and gave up trying to be calm and rational. Obviously whoever this creature was he was holding several misconceptions.

"You know, it actually doesn't. But I doubt you believe that, because hey, there is no way in hell the Goblin King could possibly see any value in a human who kicked his ass at his own damn game. And where the hell do you get off thinking he is 'precious' to me? Seriously? I didn't even know he was fucking real until about ten minutes ago when I woke up here! Because newsflash, white-eyes, I am human and this shit isn't real in our world." She had let go of her elbows, and she had moved across the room until not only was she in his space, but her index finger was pressing angrily into his chest. To his credit, he had only backed up a single step in surprise though she was certain he had heard her move. "So here's a thought; if you hate my presence here so much, why don't you fucking help me instead of accusing me of kidnapping your precious king?"

"Help you do what?" The question surprised her, and she opened her mouth to answer but closed it without saying anything twice before she found her voice.

"I don't know." To add to her surprise, he actually smiled, and the hand that pushed hers away was surprisingly gentle.

"I wonder if it was not this which led him to save you," he said somewhat cryptically. She frowned at him, eyebrows drawing down.

"Right, because I know exactly what you're talking about." His smile widened, and then faded.

"So you desire help? To return to your home?"

"Yes? I mean I hardly belong here."

"But you missed it." She looked away from him, eyes going automatically out the window to the twists of the labyrinth.

"No, I told you, I didn't know it was real."

"You always felt something was missing. I can see the bonds that tie you to this land."

"You can-" Sarah peered into the white eyes. "You are blind, aren't you?" His lips flattened into two thin lines and she knew she had made a mistake in mentioning it. She almost expected him to attack her again and spoke quickly; "I don't mean to offend you, I just thought-"

"No, it is my own fault for taking offense to a mortal." He seemed to force himself to relax and she breathed an internal sigh of relief. "I do not see the world as you do, so in that way I am blind. What I do see is the magic that binds the world together, colors and patterns woven through all living things." Sarah was silent a moment.

"That must be beautiful." She realized when he did not respond immediately that she had surprised him, despite the expressionlessness of his face. It was a mask, hiding everything he thought or felt behind the emptiness.

"It is." The words came out slowly, and she wondered if anyone else had ever expressed anything but distaste for his blindness. "But of no matter. You desire aid to return home."

"Yes," she said the word far more confidently, though she was secretly willing to admit that she would not mind some time to explore the magical realm she had found herself in once more.

"Then I will do so, for a price."

"A price?" She hesitated, backing away from him slightly. He made no move toward her.

"I will help you find a way home, but you will help restore the Goblin King before I do."

"And why would I do that?" She crossed her arms once more, and though he could not see her, she raised an eyebrow.

"Because you wear his pendant," the pale man said, his smile not at all comforting, "and he is the only one who can send you back." Sarah clenched her jaw, and fought down the desire to punch the pretty face. She was fairly certain she would never be able to land a hit on him unless he allowed it anyway.

"And if I refuse?" His shoulders rose in a shrug.

"It is of little matter to me whether you die here or in your world." Yet she remembered his greeting when he had realized the Goblin King was not in attendance, as well as the audacity of simply walking into the King's chamber without being invited and using his name instead of title. It was her turn to smirk.

"You believe I can find him, and you need him found." She saw the muscle twitch in the inhumanly still face.

"You see too much."

"You sacrificed too much when you first came in," she fired back immediately. She knew she was not imagining the smile that pulled slightly at the corner of his mouth. He inclined his head to her, and she was surprised to realize that she had actually won this round.

"Yes, the Goblin King must be found, and I think you are the only one who can. I believe that is why his pendant hangs around your neck." She glanced down at the strange triangular thing, brushing her fingers over it and feeling the warmth.

"Why me?"

"Because you defeated his labyrinth," he said with another shrug, "because you are bound to this land, even if you do not realize it." He was silent a moment, and then the smile did pull the corners of his mouth up, but it was not a happy smile. "Because the laws of the Underground do not bind you as they do those who live here. Because he believed you could do it."

_I have need of you. I'm sorry, but I have need of you. Sarah, wake._ The voice had drifted through the darkness with her, had pulled at her. He had pleaded, and even if it was just a means of manipulating her, there had been something desperate in his voice she had never heard before. That desperation did not belong in the voice of the Goblin King. She was not sure why it mattered to her beyond one simple fact; he belonged on the throne in the castle beyond the Goblin City, and she had to see that set right again.

"I will agree to this deal on one condition," she finally said, her mouth turning up into a smile.

"And what condition is that?" His voice was cold, and she marveled at how quickly he seemed to change before her eyes.

"Tell me your name." She knew she had surprised him again when the blank mask disappeared and he laughed. He was, in that moment, the most radiant thing she had ever seen; the light seemed to catch and kindle in his hair and skin until he seemed almost to glow. _Perhaps that is the magic_, she thought, but dismissed it as unimportant. He was beautiful in the way a hawk or an eagle was beautiful; fierce and proud and wild and so completely alien to her.

"I am Dallán, son of Maebh. It is my pleasure to meet you." He bowed to her.

"Dallán son of Maebh, I am honored to make your acquaintance." She did her best curtsy. "So what do I need to know about rescuing the King?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I meant to update this story yesterday but then I got distracted and...oops. So have an update today. For those of you who are impatient to see Jareth, you almost sort of get a taste? lol I know, I'm horrible, but I'm into chapter ten now, and he still isn't physically in the story...

I forget if I mentioned that this is sort of an exercise for me to develop an original character for a different project, but you finally get to meet him; Dallán. If you are curious as to what he looks like-as in really looks like, because he will have a physical body in this world eventually-you can go look here: /pro_ ?id=249

As for questions about the headaches...well the answer will come.

Thanks for all the lovely reviews, and follows and all that lovely stuff. You keep me at least mostly motivated. It's hard to be motivated around a full-time job, and 3-4 3 hour climbing sessions a week, plus the impending summer...


	5. Chapter 5

Dallán had never met a human quite like the one who appeared in Jareth chambers. _Perhaps,_ he reasoned, _that is because she is not quite human._ In all the years since she had taken back the child stolen away by the Goblin King—a story he had been forced to pry out word by painful word from the man himself—he had never mentioned that the blood of the Sidhe ran in her veins. He did not think it likely Jareth had not known, but supposed it was possible he had been so focused on bringing her to fail that he had not realized the truth. He did not think she would have otherwise been able to tie herself so strongly to the Underground; certainly such rituals came with rewards for the humans who completed them, but they were usually trivial things. This power she held, that he could see in the patterns around him, was extremely unusual. It was almost as though she was just as much a part of the Underground as himself. Such a thing was impossible for a mortal of course; even if she did remain in the underground and allow her mortality to burn away the likelihood of her surviving with her higher functions intact was low.

None of this changed the fact that he had been delighted by her, and that had surprised him. She had remained calm under threat and had not been worried or frightened by what must have seemed a sudden change of location. There had been a grace to her speech, and if he had felt her tremble when he held her against the wall there had been no hint of fear or doubt in her voice. She admitted her ignorance easily, and without fear while at the same time standing firm on the few things she did know. He had seen the power in her flare, and if the silence she had temporarily inflicted on him had been accidental and easily broken it had been positive evidence that she was far more than a 'simple human.' Her anger was swift, but she was clever enough to turn his words back on him and she seemed to instinctively know how to best insult him. His attitude toward her had been something of a test, but he had also successfully manipulated her into doing what he desired.

He had left her after telling her his name, explaining that she needed yet more rest and he would tell her more on the morrow. He sent a summons to one of the Labyrinth's denizens and returned to the King's study, where he had been working to break down a complicated bit of spell-work that had been troubling Jareth. Despite the Goblin King's immense power, he was not often free to do such tedious work. He sat down in the King's heavy chair, and lifted the box.

He knew it was small enough to fit in one palm, perhaps only three inches long on all sides, and though he was certain it was hollow there was quite a bit of weight to it. That worried him, somewhat, for he could not see through the shell. The fact that it had appeared out of nowhere with no spell-signature that Jareth had been able to sense made it even more troubling. The Goblin King might have had little time to explore the intricacies of the spell-work on the box, but he was powerful enough to trace even the slightest magical trace that was left after any kind of spell-casting. There had been none. Neither of them had yet been able to open the box. He stared at the twists of magic that enveloped the thing, wondering what exactly the box was holding.

Pehaps, he thought, I am holding the very prison Jareth is trapped within. Some of the patterns he was seeing were almost familiar binding spells, though he had never seen these particular patterns before now he did not think they would be so very different. He had tried to unravel them, only to have the box suddenly sear his palm. He would not try that again until he had figured out how to remove that particular enchantment. The clatter of armor in the hallway pulled his attention away from the box, and he put it down once more as he heard the door swing open.

"You called for me, my Lord?" He allowed himself a smile.

"Indeed, Sir Didymus. Thank you for coming so swiftly."

"I dared not dawdle when called, Lord Dallán. The king has gone missing, has he not?" Dallán only nodded; any creature living within the Labyrinth would already know that the King was no longer in control. Even Dallán could feel it.

"Indeed," he said softly. "And I have need of you."

"I should think so!" Didymus drew his sword, and he could hear him go to one knee. "I shall go find him immediately!"

"No, Sir Didymus," he said, erasing his humored expression with solemnity. "There is a mission of even more importance."

"Of more importance? How can it be?"

"The Lady Sarah has returned to the Labyrinth, at the King's hand."

"But she defeated him, did she not?"

"She did, but she was dying and knowing the risk to himself he saved her life. I believe she is an important piece in this game, and would ask that you protect her on her quest."

"Her quest?" The fox-knight's voice was curious.

"She will go find the king."

"Is that wise, Lord Dallán? I think there is little love between them."

"He saved her life."

"Yes," his voice was thoughtful, "she would not let that go unrewarded. It is only just that she recover the King. I will protect the Lady with my life."

"I am certain you shall."

"May I tell my sworn brother, my Lord? And the Dwarf would probably wish to aid her also, for she was dear to him."

"Yes, you may gather them, but be cautious Sir Didymus. There are those even within the Labyrinth who would wish her harm."s

"On my honor I will not fail his Majesty." The knight rose, but hesitated. "May I see the Lady now?"

"I fear she is resting still, Sir Knight. I will call for you the moment she is fit for company."

"Then I will wait on your word." He bowed, and then clattered from the room. Dallán listened to the sound of him retreating and could not help but wonder what the final cost would be for the spells that had been cast.

More important was the knowledge that the one who would have to pay the final price was a girl who had very little understanding of the world in which she found herself. She would have to be enough; the Goblin King had to be restored to his throne, whatever the cost. Dallán shut away any feelings of regret or remorse, and strode from the room, puzzle box forgotten.

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Sarah had been surprised to find that sleep was not so elusive as she had expected. Dallán had not been gone twenty minutes before she was once again crawling between the sheets with a yawn.

"Sarah." She found herself standing once more on the hill overlooking the Labyrinth with the castle in the distance.

"Is this the part where I tell you it doesn't seem so hard?" She turned with a smirk to find the Goblin King standing some feet away, leaning casually against a twisted tree. He was dressed simply in tight gray breeches and an off-white renaissance shirt, with a wide black belt. "Your Majesty." She sketched a curtsy with more than a little attitude.

"The years have honed your sense of humor, I see," he replied, pushing off to stand straight and proud. He performed a bow with the same half-mocking air.

"Well, when fate has this horrible a sense of irony, what else can you do?" She met his eyes without fear and surprised a flash of pride in his mismatched eyes. "I mean, who would have thought I would come back here to rescue you?"

"I hardly need your pity." His voice went instantly cold. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning her gaze once more to the Labyrinth.

"But you do need my help, your Majesty." She glanced back at him, and saw his jaw twitch. "I can just go home if you think you can rescue yourself."

"Can you?" She just shrugged, letting him call her bluff without fighting back. She had to pick her battles with him, and do so with a great deal of caution. He was clever, sharp-witted and a master of twisting the terms of an agreement.

"I thought you had no power over me." She changed the subject and this time it was his turn to shrug. So there would be no answers from this dream. "I am dreaming, aren't I?"

"You are." She moved to a fallen log, sitting down so that she was still able to look over the maze at the bottom of the hill. The first time she had not taken the time to notice just how amazing it actually was. She was also surprised that staring at it seemed to give her a strange sense of vertigo, and she realized with a surprise that the movement she kept seeing out of the corner of her eye was the Labyrinth itself changing as she watched.

"I never saw it change, when I was in it. I would turn around and it would be different." There was some awe in her voice, and she did not bother to hide it. She smiled suddenly. "It was so frustrating." He was silent for a moment, and she did not try to pin him with her gaze; she just kept watching the strange, living structure.

"Were you not seeing it in a dream, you might never see it change." The words came slowly, as though he were unsure how to have a conversation where he did not taunt or mock or threaten.

"But you can see it change, even when awake."

"I can." It was a strange thing, to hear so much caution in his voice, as though without the armor of flesh he was vulnerable. She was tempted to press, thought briefly how satisfying it would be to attack him as he once had done to her. She could now remember clearly the screeching wail of the cleaners coming after her in the tunnels. She let it go, and did not press him. She was certain that pissing him off would not help anyone, and probably only make her life more difficult. Once she had challenged him because she was desperate to prove she could be a hero, that she could be strong and worthy. She had opened her mouth and the fear had pushed arrogant words passed her lips that she not appear afraid before him. She had been certain then that appearing afraid was the worst thing she could do, and perhaps that was true but now things were different. She was different. The laugh that bubbled out of her was a little bitter. "What amuses you?" He was instantly cold.

"I was just thinking about the last time I was here. I was such an insecure idiot." She paused, gathering her words. "I was so afraid of you, afraid of losing, afraid of not being enough. I knew I had to win, and I believed I would, but I was so afraid and so very angry about it all."

"And now, Sarah? Are you afraid of me now?" His voice had changed once again and she turned her head to see him instantly dressed in all his finery, as menacing as she had ever seen him. She felt a thrill of something she was not willing to look too closely at, and a certain amount of excitement, but it was not fear.

"No," she admitted, "I am not afraid of you. Afraid of what you may do, maybe. But not of you. You have no power over me." And that was the difference. Even after he had obviously pulled her out of her own world she knew that she had won, and that whatever he had done to get her back to the Underground it had been more complicated than just taking her. His eyes flashed with anger, and she was a bit afraid of that, but then she thought she saw something like respect before his face went carefully neutral.

"You always were a foolish thing."

"Maybe." They were silent for a moment.

"You have grown up, Sarah." The words held a little grudging respect and her expression turned wary. It was as close to a compliment as she had ever heard from him. "I believe that I chose well, when I brought you here."

"How did you?" She asked suddenly, "when I said-" his eyes turned flinty and she smiled, "those words, I thought it meant you couldn't do things like that to me."

"There are," he admitted slowly, "loopholes."

"So why did you not bring me back before now? Why didn't you seek vengeance? Isn't that what your people do?"

"Even the loopholes have consequences," he said with a grimace. "Had I believed there was another way, I would not have chosen to pay the price for this one."

"The blind man, Dallán, he said you should not have rescued me, that you knew it was a trap." Silence, and then a slow nod, though he said nothing. She changed the subject. "Can I trust him?" One eyebrow rose, and she wondered if he had expected her to question him further about how he had magicked her away.

"You can trust him, insofar as you can trust any of the Sidhe."

"Sidhe," she repeated the word thoughtfully. "You know, I searched for mentions of you in the myths and legends for years, without knowing what I looked for. You were never there." He smiled slightly, but it was almost predatory.

"You looked for me?"

"I wanted to know there was magic in the world. I needed to be able to believe that there was more than just work and sleep. For the first month I was desperate to find proof that my dream had been real. After that I just needed some magic in my life." The light began suddenly to fade, and she realized she was waking up. "How do I find you?" She asked suddenly, knowing there were important questions she should have asked and regretting getting caught up in the stillness of the moment.

"Follow your instincts, Sarah. When have they ever failed you?" She snorted at that.

"All the time, actually."

"Not in the Labyrinth."

"Are you in the Labyrinth?" He was fading now, disappearing into the darkness.

"I am in the dark, Sarah. You must find me."

"But where?"

"The darkness calls to you." She heard his voice as at a great distance, and had to strain to hear his next words. "Follow the dark."

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She came awake slowly, the dream lingering in her mind. She stared at the canopy of silk above the bed as she considered it. She did not know whether the man in her dreams had been the actual king, or just the workings of an overactive subconscious but she felt that even if her imagination had painted the setting and some of the details, there was some sliver of the King himself within the dream. He had not been as she remembered him, and she did not think she could paint him in such vivid detail on her own. Not anymore, despite her renewed belief.

She sighed, and slid out of bed. There would be no lazing around, even if no one had mentioned a time limit, she was certain there would be one and she did not want to waste time. A glance around the room told her that her own clothes were not to be found; considering that the last thing she remembered was being in the bath she was not surprised, though she suddenly felt herself flushing with embarrassment. If Jareth had thought anything about pulling her naked from the bath, she was certain he would have mentioned it, which was a point in favor of her dream being just that. Still, she could hardly go wandering around in a nightgown. She padded barefoot to the heavy wardrobe against the wall, and opened it cautiously.

Inside she found clothes that clearly belonged to the King himself, answering very clearly the unasked question of whose room she was in. She frowned at the abundance of shirts and tight breeches, and the abundance of all the shades of black and white and red. On the door hung a heavy black robe, and she wrapped herself in it until she could find something more suitable. She did not bother with slippers, as the stone was not very cold. Covered up as much as she was going to be, she went to the door and opened it to peer into the hallway.

Only to find a goblin that stood almost waist high standing with a tray in one hand and its other fist poised to knock. They stared at each other in surprise for a moment.

"Hello," Sarah broke the silence.

"Lady, the Lordy send me to see you break-fasted." The pronunciation was off, but Sarah understood.

"The Lordy? Dallán?"

"The Lordy," the creature—and Sarah was pretty certain it was a she, though she supposed the dress it seemed to be wearing could be considered a robe—nodded affirmatively. "He said I was to 'make certain she is dressed and eaten."

"Eaten, of course," Sarah nodded eyes on the tray. The scents were not quite familiar, but delicious nonetheless. "Come in." She stepped back, holding the door for the creature, who moved more quickly than she would have expected to place the tray on a low table next to one of the chairs by the fire. "But I don't know what I am supposed to wear," she explained as she followed the creature to the chair and sank into it. "The wardrobe is full of the King's clothes, and I can hardly wear those."

"Then you ain't been looking right." The goblin darted over to the heavy thing, and slid the handle across the door to open it from the other side. Instantly, Sarah recalled a similar door in a very different place. Giving a light tug, the wardrobe opened to reveal not the Goblin King's clothes, but dresses and gowns of rich fabrics and brilliant hues.

"I-" she began to argue, ironically, that it was impossible and simply gave up. Obviously it was possible as she had just seen it happen, "see." She finished lamely.

"Now eat, an' if you need to make yourself clean, the baths is through there." The goblin gestured to a door set into the wall that Sarah was certain she had not seen when she had woken the first time, but this time she made no comment. She nodded and turned her attention to the tray, and heard the door close as the goblin left her alone.

Breakfast was simple if a little unfamiliar; there were two thick slices of a heavy bread that was still warm, several slices of meat she could not identify—poking at them confirmed they had been cooked, but one of them was bright orange and another was a very dark purple—and a single small wedge of cheese as well as several types of fruit she refused to consider eating. Of course she knew she was not supposed to eat anything from the Underground, all the legends mentioned that eating or drinking anything would ensure one could never leave and yet she knew that she was going to have to eat something, and was fairly certain this quest was going to take longer than the thirteen hours she had previously undertaken. She stared at the plate, and weighed her options for a moment before shrugging and laying a slice of the most normal-looking meat across one of the bread slices and taking a bite.

Flavor exploded across her tongue, and she could not help but close her eyes. The bread was nutty and held just a slight trace of spices, and if at first she thought the meat tasted of ham, she slightly adjusted her opinion a moment later. It was very similar, but ever so slightly different, leaner. She used the little cheese knife to cut a slice off the white wedge and laid it atop her next bite. The cheese was a little bit harder than she was used to, and had a smoky taste that matched wonderfully. She sighed happily, relaxing into the chair and picked up the mug that rested alongside it.

She was surprised to see a clear liquid inside, and she sniffed it before taking a cautious sip, then laughed when it proved to be only water. It was crisper and cleaner than any water she had ever tasted, however and she could not help but think that this was how water was supposed to be. She sighed, if the food here tasted this good it was going to be very unpleasant to return home.

When she finished her breakfast she rose and moved to the wardrobe, still open to the clothes that obviously belonged to a lady of some importance. The Goblin Queen, perhaps? She decided not to look too closely at the welter of feelings that brought up. She reached out to touch the fabrics, hands sliding across silk and velvet and brocade. She withdrew one gown of emerald silk, marveling at the beauty of it. The corseted bodice was embroidered in black ivy, with tiny crystals half-hidden away here and there while the skirt was layers of lighter than air silk, that danced on even the slightest breath of air. It looked, surprisingly, like it would fit her and she hastily put it away before she could talk herself into trying it on. Dallán was waiting for her to dress, and it would be foolish to wear something so fine when she was certain she would be leaving soon. No, she had to find something that would endure at least most of the trials the Labyrinth was going to throw at her.

She paused.

The Goblin King was still within the Labyrinth. She knew with absolute certainty that he had not, once he had saved her, left the great maze. Yet no one knew where he was. Could he have fallen into one of his own damned oubliettes? Even as she thought it, she laughed. No, he could be a pompous asshole, but he was not inept. He would never have fallen for one of his own traps. Plus, Dallán had said it before; he had known that rescuing her was a trap. So wherever he was, it was not a place of his choosing—accident or otherwise. That did not change the fact that he had not left. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

What she really needed right now was a pair of jeans. She opened her eyes and was surprised to see that the wardrobe's contents had changed. The incredible array of gowns was gone, and instead she was facing an array of clothes strangely reminiscent of the other side of the door. She supposed it would have to do, and withdrew a pair of pants that shone slightly but still looked more durable than the skin-tight breeches she had once seen the Goblin King wear. She was surprised and pleased to find them a heavy yet supple sort of waxed canvas, and if they were not the long jeans she had hoped for they certainly met her needs. She withdrew a shirt that was entirely too reminiscent of the flowing things she had once worn—that the king had been wearing in her dream—and a wide belt. She was a little surprised to find underthings in a drawer, and more surprised to find they were remarkably modern, all things considered. She tried not to think about why they were there, and gathered up her things before moving into the bathing room.

She found herself surprised once more by the remarkably modern room. True the tub was big enough for three or four people, and the water seemed to flow constantly through it, but it was hot and there was a small toilet chamber set behind another door within the room. She had noticed a wash basin in the bedchamber, and realized she could fill the pitcher with water from the huge tub if she needed to wash her hands or face. She stripped and stepped delightedly into the steaming water. She realized then that there was a current within and a quick search revealed two grated openings at either end. The water did run continuously through the bathing channel, and then ran away again, and she could not help but wonder how the plumbing worked. Had they tapped into something like a geyser? A hot spring that kept hot water running through the entire castle?

She would have to ask Dallán when she saw him, and she put the thoughts aside and sank down into the warmth. Unlike her previous bath, this time she felt her muscles almost immediately loosen. She felt good, better than good. She felt like she had never been more alive, and she found that looking back was like remembering a dream. How had she never realized the pain and tension she had carried around constantly? Had the pain just grown so slowly over time that she had not noticed? The absence of it made it seem all the worse and she sighed. This was not going to be the relaxing bath she would have wanted. There was a small basket with several crystal jars of various liquids and crystals, and she opened and sniffed at all of them before dabbing just a little of one that reminded her of the most beautiful night sky on her finger. To her surprise it foamed immediately and she grinned, pouring some into her palm and scrubbing it into her hair.

Some time later she was clean, and dressed and braiding her hair when a knock preceded the door opening. Sarah raised an eyebrow, but it was only the goblin from before peeking around the door at her.

"Ah, the lady is break-fasted and dressed," it said, darting into the room. "The Lordy is waiting in the Library."

"I see. And where is the library?"

"Down the hall, door at the end." The goblin took the tray and was gone again. Sarah just smiled, and wrapped her hair with a leather tie she had found conveniently laying on the bedside table. Looking into the wardrobe once more she found long socks and boots. The pants she wore were not nearly so tight as those favored by the king, but they came only to mid-calf and so she selected a pair of black knee-high boots. They slid up her calves like a lover's caress and she could not help but run her fingers down the soft leather once or twice before bringing herself back to the present and heading for the library.

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Dallán was surprised how little time there was between the goblin's announcement that 'the Lady' was awake, and Sarah's soft knock on the door. He knew immediately that it was her, of course; no one who lived in the castle beyond the goblin city was like to announce their arrival so sedately.

"Enter." The door moved on silent hinges and he heard her boot-heels rapping on the stone. When he did not hear the rustle of skirts on the floor, he had to hide the smile behind a blank expression; she had chosen against wearing one of the gowns she had doubtlessly found in the wardrobe upon first glance. It said much about her.

"Are you going to help me find the Goblin King?" He did not miss the fact that she chose—subconsciously, he believed—to greet him as a subordinate, which meant she regarded him with a healthy amount of suspicion she was not willing to admit to. He weighed his words carefully before speaking.

"I admit I have little aid to give," he said quietly. "Wherever he has been taken I can find no trace of him. Perhaps he has been secreted out of the Underground-"

"No, He is still here." Sarah's voice was firm and he heard her footsteps approach. The magic within her was so much more visible to him now, and he found himself wondering if the King of the Goblins had actually lost his mind. She was radiant with the magic of the underground, and while he knew it was possible for those humans who carried the blood of the Sidhe within them to survive in the Underground he had never heard of one carrying such a powerful talisman without severe consequence. The King had once theorized that when she beat his Labyrinth she had been irrevocably changed, but when pressed for a further explanation he had not been able to provide one. From where Dallán stood, it seemed the King had been correct.

"How do you know that?"

"I don't know," she admitted, and he was surprised. In his long life, he had never met someone so willing to admit their own ignorance, and yet he could almost see how it could be a powerful tool if used correctly. "I just know that he's still here, somewhere." She gave a humorless laugh, "it is probably too much to hope that he just fell into one of his damned oubliettes, huh?"

"You have seen one from the inside as well, no?" The radiance that was her presence shifted and her voice was surprised when she spoke.

"'As well?' He got you too?" This time it was Dallán's turn to laugh.

"Indeed. I was," he paused, wondering how much to say, "a difficult child."

"A child?"

"Indeed." He resisted the sudden desire to correct the misinterpretation of his words she was certain to have made, and yet after a moment of consideration she surprised him again.

"You obviously suffered no lasting harm," she said slowly. He could hear the question in her tone and knew she had realized from his earlier actions that he carried some affection for the Goblin King. His angry reaction to finding her where he had expected Jareth had given too much away, and he was momentarily chagrined at his own loss of control. Still, thus far she seemed unwilling to take advantage of his weakness. He would have to be much more wary with her in the future.

"You are still willing to risk your life to save his?"

"Well, apparently he risked his to save mine. God knows he didn't have to."

"What happened?" He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I had a migraine," she said factually. "Worse than ever. One minute I was in the bath, the next I was in excruciating pain and then I remember nothing until I woke up here. Well, not exactly nothing. I remember darkness," her voice had gone quiet, as though it was uncomfortable for her to remember. "I remember being not in my body and not wanting to go back to the pain." There was a pause, and he thought she wanted to say something slightly different, but her voice strengthened again. "Jareth called to me, told me to wake up, and so I did."

"You came at his call?" Dallán let scorn fill his voice.

"Is it so different for you? Why are you here?" Her voice was surprisingly free of defensiveness, and he could not help the way his brows furrowed slightly, and then more strongly when she laughed. "What amuses you?"

"I know you don't trust me." There should have been something haughty in her tone, if she were Sidhe there would be; for she would have plan upon plan laid out to trip him and yet he was certain she did not. Honesty for the sake of honesty was new, and it kept jerking him off balance. He had never been one to mingle with the human race, but he was certain she should not have been able to read him this well.

"And what makes you think that?"

"I am paying attention. Your eyes might be blind but they show all your feelings if you're watching for them."

"And you are watching?"

"I just said that," she huffed. "Is it really so terrible among your people that you are blind? Is it not better than being dead?"

"There are few—if any—of the Sidhe who would agree with that."

"You do."

"And what makes you think that?" He made his voice cold, though he was marveling at her comprehension. She was silent a moment and when he felt a hand rest gently on his upper arm he stilled completely, torn between fury and wonder.

"You are still alive." They were simple words, said in a voice so quiet he might not have heard them at all had he not been paying such close attention to her. Even though her hand was resting only on his shirt, he could almost feel the power that ran beneath her skin; so much stronger than the day before, and yet he did not think she even noticed. He moved away from her hand, keeping his face completely neutral.

"You are wasting time here, when you ought to be finding the king. Perhaps you do not want to be found."

"Sure," she said with a sigh. "That is exactly it. I have no desire to find the king who can send me home. I'm just going to hide out from the life I actually like here in the Labyrinth. You will remember, Lord Dallán," she made the title sound an insult, "that you started the conversation about such 'unimportant' topics. Actually, you also said you have no idea how to save the Goblin King. So you will forgive me if I refuse to take the blame for that. I hope you can also forgive my curiosity. As it seems were are going to be allies, I thought it might be nice if we were friends. And while I'm ;apologizing; you can also forgive the apparent arrogance of a mere human who stepped out of her place." Her voice was perfectly polite, and yet even without being able to see her face he knew it was sarcasm.

"Do you know how much like the Goblin King you sound? He wields sarcasm like a knife and with great skill." She was silent, and he wondered if he had finally offended her.

"How am I going to find him? I do not believe he's left the Labyrinth. I don't know why, or how or anything, but I know he is here somewhere. If he can't find his own way to safety, then how am I supposed to save him?" The sudden change in feeling was almost Sidhe-like, except that he had never heard that particular flavor of despair in any of his own race.

"If you already know he is within the walls of the Labyrinth, then you are already well ahead of everyone else."

"And now you're supportive. I swear to god, if I never deal with the Sidhe again after this it will be too soon." She sighed, and he saw her form straighten. "Alright, fine. He is within the Labyrinth. I just have to find him. Do I have a time limit?"

"I do not know," Dallán admitted, "but I suspect the longer he is trapped the less we will recognize him when he returns."

"Oh goody," she said under her breath, and if he did not know the phrase he understood the feeling. "Nothing like looking for a seriously pompous needle in a haystack of doom. Yeah, so looking forward to this. Goblin King I am going to kick your ass so hard when I find you." The last line he did not think he was supposed to hear, and he made no comment on it. He could not deny that he himself had felt very much the same on more than one occasion. Jareth might have been exceptionally powerful, but he was seldom cruel for no reason; something which could not be said of most of their race. The girl let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose I should be on my way."

"Before you leave," Dallán said, feeling her attention return to him, "I have asked one of the King's subjects to guard you."

"Guard me? The Labyrinth I remember was mischievous but not so dangerous."

"I suspect that you will not recognize much within the Labyrinth now," he said quietly, "and as one who is Running in the wrong direction doubly so."

"What do you mean, 'running in the wrong direction?'"

"When you ran the Labyrinth before, you were running toward the Goblin City and this very castle, no?"

"Of course, I had to rescue Toby."

"And now you are running from the castle to some point elsewhere within the Labyrinth." Silence as she thought over his words. He could almost hear the thoughts as they turned over in her head.

"You know where he is."

"No," he said firmly. "I suspect. And you should pray to whatever gods you believe in that I am wrong."

"Where is he?" Her voice had gone as cold as any Sidhe.

"The only place he could not find his way out of," Dallán said with a shrug. "The Heart of the Labyrinth."

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**Author's Note:**

Sorry about the delay; my life went a bit sideways and I couldn't bring myself to write or do anything more productive than climb and play WoW. On the up side; I am now able to lead-climb and clean an outdoor route! I did a quick read-through of this, but I may have missed stuff. Hope you like it.


	6. Chapter 6

"I thought this, the Castle, was the heart." Sarah was confused. There had been a great deal of fuss about getting to the castle on her last journey through the twisting maze. She had never considered the possibility that there was another 'heart' beyond the obvious one. The moment the she realized she had taken the castle being the heart for granted she realized her error.

"It is not," Dallán began. "The castle is simply the center. The Heart of the Labyrinth is something else, something much darker."

"Darker?"

"The Heart is the place where the Labyrinth began." She watched his face, but he had shuttered his eyes, and she could read no emotion there. She could not help the smile that tugged at her lips, but sobered immediately. How many of his own kind had avoided looking at those eyes—simply because they were blind—for him to have assumed he did not need to control them.

"Jar- The Goblin King didn't build it?" Dallán shook his head.

"He is not the first to rule this land and the Labyrinth that surrounds it. He has never told me where exactly it came from, except that there is magic at the heart of it that even he cannot completely control. I have my suspicions, but they would be meaningless to you."

"Do you always assume that humans are too dumb to understand what you have to say?" She could not help the sharp tone of her voice, and she was surprised when he waved his hand dismissively.

"In this instance it is not your humanity that makes it meaningless. You have visited the Underground, run the Labyrinth. I concede that you are very likely possessed of an innate understanding of the structure of this monstrosity that I will never have. Can you likewise accept that I have an understanding of this realm that you do not, and believe me when I say that while I may have my suspicions about the nature of the Heart of the Labyrinth and its creation it is tentative and uncertain; even to myself."

"So basically, I should just trust that you're not trying to tell me I'm stupid." His face remained mostly impassive, but she did not miss the way his lip twitched, as though a smile were hiding just behind the facade.

"Indeed."

"Alright. I'll give you this one. Is there anything you can tell me that might help me, you know, not die?"

"Nothing I suspect you do not already know. The Labyrinth changes. You were a child when you ran it last, and so it changed itself to be what you needed."

"And now that I'm a 'grown-up,'" she did not miss the way one perfect white eyebrow lifted at her words, "it will be all the more dangerous because I have different ideas of what is dangerous."

"You understand," he said with a nod.

"Sort of. I probably won't really get it till I'm out there." She sighed, and then shook her head. "You said you had arranged for a guard?"

"Ah, yes. I believe you know him already." Sarah felt her eyes widen. "Come in."

She spun as she heard the clatter of armor, and when her eyes fell on the little fox-knight she could not help but run to him and throw her arms around both him and his trusted steed.

"Sir Didymus!"

"My Lady! You remember! I thought for certain you had forgotten us!" She felt the shame of the truth, and bowed her head as she pulled away.

"I had," she admitted, "in my world none of this exists. There is no magic, no creatures like you and Ludo. I thought I had dreamed the whole adventure, and then I grew up."

"Ah, I had thought as much," Didymus just nodded as though it were nothing. "There is no shame in growing up, my Lady. You did only what must be done by all children."

"You forgive me for not calling?"

"But of course." His words made a tightness she had never noticed before relax, and she realized that she had always felt a little bit guilty though she had never quite been able to pinpoint why.

"Didymus, I'm here to find the King." One of the fox's incredibly expressive eyebrows rose curiously.

"I did not think My Lady held any fondness for him."

"I don't," she said quickly, "or I didn't, I guess. I don't know why, but he saved my life and it would be terribly unfair of me to leave him to die after that."

"He saved your life, my Lady?" She glanced at Dallán, who nodded.

"Yeah, he did."

"Well then you must save him in return." He nodded with finality and she could not help but smile. Didymus had always been the most decisive of her Labyrinthine companions, quick to accept that things must be done a certain way and never looking back.

"Dallán believes he is trapped in the Heart of the Labyrinth. Do you know where that is?" The fox opened his mouth and closed it again without saying anything.

"No, my Lady." His voice was full of regret. She smiled.

"That's alright, I didn't really think you would. It seems like it's quite a secret."

"I have heard of it, but only as little more than rumor. If it does exist, no one has ever seen it."

"The King has seen it," Dallán said quietly. "It is very real, and very dangerous. You do not have much time."

"Thirteen hours?" Sarah raised an eyebrow at him even though he couldn't see it. He seemed to pick up the wryness in her voice, for his lips quirked again—though they did not actually smile.

"I should think it longer than that. I should think you have at least several days."

"Well that is a little bit reassuring."

"Be warned Sarah, the Labyrinth was passive in its attempts to stop you when you were last within its contours. You were heading for its king and its center. This time you are heading toward its Heart and it will do everything it can to stop you."

"You talk about it like it's alive."

"Not, perhaps the way you or I are alive, no. But can you really tell me you believe otherwise?"

"I thought it was the Goblin King moving it around on me."

"I suspect he was aware of the changes, but no, he was not the cause of them. The Labyrinth is not a passive construct but the magic of dream given form."

"Thank you for the warning," Sarah replied after a moment. "I will try not to let it kill me." This time Dallán did not conceal the smile that pulled at his lips, though the strange sharpness of his teeth made her a little bit nervous.

"Let the game begin."

JSJSJSJSJSJSJSJS

Sarah and Didymus stood at the gates of the Goblin City looking out over the junkyard. Faced now with the reality of re-entering the Labyrinth Sarah found herself suddenly nervous. She had dreamed about having to run it again; nightmares in which she was chased by monsters so much more frightening than the goblins she had once fled from. Now, she wondered if they hadn't been dreams but visions of the future and she found she had very little desire to enter those walls again.

The junkyard itself looked little different from how she remembered it. There was a heavy pall of darkness that seemed to linger in the air, as though the junkyard itself lingered somewhere on the edge of night regardless of what light was actually up in the sky. Beyond the yard, the forest loomed black and menacing. From this angle she could not see the twisting stonework that shaped the rest of the maze, and though it was a little bit silly she was glad for it. She was likewise glad she had not been forced to run through the Goblin army once again, though she said nothing about that, being unwilling to jinx it. She hefted her small pack to one shoulder.

"Alright, Didymus, let's go."

"As you wish, my Lady." She passed through the gate and set foot outside the Goblin City for the first time in thirteen years. Ambrosius, carrying his master, bounded ahead and she could not help the smile that came to her face. Her own sheepdog, Merlin, had died several years earlier and she still missed him. It was good to see that Ambrosius at least had not suffered the years poorly. When the gate had disappeared behind the first pile of cast away belongings, Sarah felt the first thrill of excitement rise in her chest. True, most of her dreams of the Labyrinth had been dark and twisted and horrifying, but there had been several that were simple adventures, and she had woken up on more than one occasion longing for the chance to be more than the writer who invented such stories. Even after her first adventure, when she discovered that it was rather less glamorous to be a hero than expected she still wanted the unknown. Sarah put her hand out to help herself over a sprawling pile of discarded things.

"Watch where you're putting those hands!" The gravelly voice was full of anger.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said immediately to the haggard old woman who turned furious eyes on her. "I didn't see you there."

"Didn't see, didn't see," she sneered, "you weren't even looking!"

"That's true. I'm sorry, I meant no harm."

"And that is the truth isn't it? You mean no harm, and everything falls apart. It's your fault, but you didn't mean it so it doesn't matter."

"I'm trying to find the king," Sarah explained patiently. "He saved my life, and now he is missing."

"Find the king, eh? And what will you do with him once you find him? Never something for nothing with his kind, and always twisted."

"That may be, but I must find him. Can you help me?"

"Cannot and will not. I have all the things that matter to me, and I'll accept no rewards from his ilk. If you were clever as you seem you would leave him to rot wherever he is." The creature turned and hobbled away, leaving Sarah alone. Looking around she realized that Didymus was no longer in sight. She called out for him anyway, and moments later she heard the clatter of his armor and he appeared from behind a particularly large pile of trash. She sighed in relief.

"I thought I had lost you," she said, giving the fox a grateful hug.

"No no, My Lady. I was just scouting ahead."

"Didymus, do you think I should be doing this? Trying to save the king?"

"It is what must be done, My Lady. Did you not say so yourself?"

"I know he saved my life, and so I guess I owe him, but is he really a good king? Do people like him?"

"He is king," the little fox said as though this were all that needed to be said. Maybe it was.

"I guess he is." She shook her head with a smile as Ambrosius trotted off with the knight swaying comfortably in his saddle. She followed a slightly more cautious pace. She ought to have known better than to ask such a complicated question. She was extremely fond of the little creature, but he saw the world in such a simple manner. She realized suddenly that it was from Didymus that she had learned that kind of quiet confidence; to be able to say that 'this is how a thing should be done and so I am going to do this,' even if everyone around her thought she was crazy. She had fought with her parents several times about her choice of lifestyle, of college major, of career. Every time she had simply weathered her parents' frenzied concern with the confidence she had learned from the fox. She had walked away from situations that made her uncomfortable, and never bowed to peer pressure. Like Didymus she saw the world from a certain angle and even if everyone around her thought she was crazy it was better to be true to yourself than to conform to the ideals of another.

Lost in thought, she did not realize they had passed under the canopy of the forest until the junkyard was lost from sight. When she finally turned to see how far they had come she was surprised to see the trees closing around them from all angles. The jingle of Didymus' armor was still moving away from her though, and she hurried forward to keep them in sight.

"Do you know where we are going?"

"Into the Labyrinth," he said, as though she were daft. "Unless thou hast a different path, my Lady? It is thine quest, after all." He stopped, and turned to her. She looked around and wondered where the certainty that the Goblin King was somewhere still within the Labyrinth had come from.

"No," she said finally. "Didymus how am I supposed to find him if no one knows where he is?" She sank down on a log, suddenly overwhelmed with the immensity of her task. She had known, the last time she entered the Labyrinth, what her goal was. The castle beyond the goblin city, at the center of the immense structure. Nearly always visible in the distance she had never lost sight of the goal. Now, the goal was an indefinite thing; no one knew where he had gone, and she could only assume most people had thought him taken out of the Labyrinth. "What if I'm wrong? What if he isn't in the Labyrinth and I am wasting time trying to find him. What if he is trapped in my world? I might never find him there, and certainly not if I waste my time here."

"Lady Sarah, thou art a most valiant hero and will most certainly be victorious in thine quest."

"I just don't know what I'm doing here, Didymus." She pulled the King's pendant from beneath her shirt, tracing the strange shape with her finger tips. "I don't know why he gave me this, or asked me to save him." Silence, and when she looked up at the fox, she was surprised to see that he was staring at the pendant with an expression of almost awe on his face.

"If the King has given you his medallion, that is a high honor." She glanced down at it, felt the warmth of the metal against her finger tips. "You are the only one who has ever solved the Labyrinth, my Lady. Is that not reason enough to believe in you?"

"But there must have been thousands of runners."

"And more," the fox said, dismounting and trotting over to close her fingers around the pendant. "But none have ever reached the castle before you."

"How is that possible? I was just a girl. A foolish, stupid girl who thought she knew more than she did. I wasn't special. I'm not special now!"

"Keep this hidden," he said. It surprised her; Didymus was the least stealthy person she had ever met. "It is powerful, and will draw unwanted attention to you." It was strange to hear him without his usual flowery speech and she put the pendant back beneath her shirt. "Thou art a powerful force within this land, my Lady."

"I hope you're right, and I suppose if I don't have time to waste I should stop feeling sorry for myself." She rose, and waited for Didymus to remount. "Do you have any idea—even a little one—where I could find the Heart of the Labyrinth?"

"I do not, my Lady. I suggest we enlist the assistance of Sir Hoggle. I believe he knows the Labyrinth best of any save the King himself."

"Hoggle," she had been closest to him, and knew it must have hurt him the most when she stopped speaking to her friends. "Would he even want to see me?"

"Thou are doubting his friendship?"

"I did stop speaking to you all without any thought to your feelings." Ambrosius started off through the woods again.

"We are creatures of the Underground, my Lady. We understand the mortal realms no longer believe in us. It may have been our fondest hope that you would remember us, yet we were prepared for you to grow up."

"Maybe I was the one who wasn't prepared for that." Yet she had been, upon waking. She had begun even that night to put away some of the fantasy, as though by doing so she could leave it totally behind her. She almost laughed thinking about how she made her living now; writing books that were just as fantastical as the world she was in. She had never quite been able to let go of the magic. Not the way other people had seemed to. Whenever she started to speak of magic and the fantastic, she could practically watch the adults around her check out of the conversation. Of course there were those whose imaginations were still strong; like the woman who came into her shop every weekday for coffee and always asked about the next book, the next story. They did not believe, just as Sarah had thought she didn't believe. "I write about you, you know." She said it suddenly, and Didymus almost preened.

"My Lady?"

"I write books, in my world. Stories about places like this. You appear in them, sometimes. Different, but it's still you. Hoggle too, and Ludo."

"Sir Hoggle and my Brother would be pleased to hear that thou hast not forgotten, my Lady."

"And you?"

"I as well. Dost thou also write about his Majesty?"

"I try not to," Sarah admitted with a laugh. "He used to make me so nervous."

"Used to, My Lady?"

"Maybe he still does, but I know he won't hurt me. At least not until I save his ass."

"Necessity does breed strange alliances." They lapsed into silence as they continued through the forest, and if Didymus felt the eyes on him as Sarah did he made no mention of it. She simply followed his example, but was pleased when the stone walls of the maze rose up before them. There was, however, no gate in sight.

"Tell me we do not have to climb that."

"Indeed, my Lady, we do not. There ought to be a gate just there." He pointed with his staff, and she did see the gates set back into the wall.

"Then let's get out of this wood. It's giving me the creeps."

* * *

**Author's Note: ** Sorry about the delay, I am easily overwhelmed with life-between managing a cafe (I really don't like that much responsibility) and it being summer (OUTDOOOOOORRRRRSSSSSS and outdoor climbing!) I'm having a hell of a time finding the motivation to sit down and write. Still, I think I still know what's going on in the story...so hopefully I will find the power to keep going. If not in June, well July is CampNaNo round 2, so there's that. Which reminds me I also have to sign up at the end of July as ML for my region in November...

** Lylabeth** - I do get migraines, and have for the past...urr...19 years I guess? I do take Advil for mine, and it takes enough of the edge off that I can power through them. Since I started drinking coffee regularly some six years ago, the severity of my migraines has greatly decreased. Of course I have to remember to drink lots of water too, but as long as there's a straw that's easy. (I don't know why, but if there's a straw in it I'll go through several glasses during my shift, but no straw and I might drink one or two.) I've also found that not lying down (Ideally being busy doing something else-like working at the cafe) brings the duration down from 8-36 hours to about 4-8 hours. But all of that is beside the point I really wanted to make when I read your comments about migraines; In 1999 (which is when this story is set) many of the drugs we have for them now were not available and those that were available were often not prescribed because they were still new (I believe the first 'readily available' drug was out mid-late 90s) and many people at that time had simply become used to basically throwing away a day or two to a migraine with whatever pain relievers they had always used. Most of the drugs we have for migraine treatment today were developed in the last fifteen years; I remember very clearly that the choices I had when I started getting them were Advil, Tylenol, or going to the hospital for a shot of something stronger. There were migraine drugs in development at that time (1995 or so) but they weren't widely available or prescribed in my area. Most people I knew who had migraines then just did whatever they had to in order to survive them basically. We have had a huge leap forward in treatment for migraines (just a side note; I never actually considered it a medical condition, but had some paramedics correct me on that just a couple years ago) which is awesome, but I did actually do some research on what treatment options were available in 1999, and there weren't a lot. Plus of course, people had gotten used to the fact that there just wasn't anything better. Even doctors pre 90s would just tell you to take over-the-counter painkillers and pray.

AND that got really long.

I'm gonna post this now...


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